Chapter 9

A/N: ayy, long time no write! Haven't been particularly busy, just preoccupied, but here's another chapter to the fic! Not sure how much longer this fic will be, but I say no more than 15-20 chapters, just gotta try figure out something to end it on really! But, still, not gonna be happening for a little while just yet!

TW for suicidal thoughts.

When Santana woke up the next morning, it was light again, and this time Brittany was sat at her desk with her laptop. The brunette lay there under the covers for a few moments, her eyes still shut as she tried to think back to and process everything that had occured in the past few days. She'd given up pretending it was all a dream at this rate. Her head ached dully and if she didn't know better, she would've thought she'd just had a drink the night before, but she knew deep down that it was probably just a tension headache, or that she was dehydrated.

Giving it a few minutes and Brittany still sitting in front of her laptop, having not realised that her girlfriend was awake yet, Santana somehow managed to find the energy to get up from under the covers. She felt dizzy and faint for a couple of seconds as she sat at the edge of the mattress, but pushed herself up regardless and padded across the carpeted floor to where Brittany was. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her, resting her head on her shoulder and planting a tender kiss on her cheek.

She heard the blonde giggle softly beneath her. "Good morning to you too."

"'Morning."

"Lemme finish this sentence, baby," Brittany whispered, pausing for a few seconds before finishing off her work and saving, pushing the laptop down and spinning around. Santana couldn't see what she was writing, but she assumed it was probably some literature essay of sorts, since she knew Brittany's teacher set one most weekends, which was kind of ridiculous in her opinion. She smiled as Brittany turned her attention to her again, spinning around on her chair and taking Santana's hands in hers, holding her wrists. Santana frowned as Brittany's face seemed to fall of a sudden.

She held her breath. "What is it?"

"We need to talk about last night, San."

Santana took note of how sad and sorry the blonde's tone was. She stared at the girl, unsure of how to answer for several moments, before breaking the girl's contact and walking back over to her side of the bed.

Last bathroom. The ad. Sitting on the bed until half one in the morning with Quinn and Brittany trying to do something, anything to bring her back to life, try and get her to engage in the conversation despite the fact that she was completely numb.

She took a deep breath, trying to play it cool. "What about it?"

"You said you didn't want to be here anymore, Santana. That stuff is serious."

"I'm fine."

Brittany shook her head firmly, pulling a knee up to her chest and pushing the desk chair closer to the bed with her other left. "You're not fine, Santana. And I was talking to Quinn, before she left, when you were asleep, and she thinks you're depressed or something."

The latina was internally beating herself up about how she fell asleep when Quinn was still here, and her heart began to race when she remembered that Quinn probably knew her secret now, and she had probably at least figured it out. What panicked her even more was the idea that they were talking about her when she was out. People talking behind her back had been one of Santana's biggest fears since she was in middle school, and it didn't matter if it was one of her best friends and her girlfriend now, it was still something she didn't completely adore.

"Talk to me, Santana."

She bit her lip and shrugged. "I don't know. I don't know how I can be happy when all this is going on, to be honest. That doesn't make me depressed, though."

"You've been sleeping a lot too, Santana," Brittany continued. "And you haven't been eating. And you're just not you anymore."

"And?" Santana questioned, but it didn't take long to realise that there was no bite or malice in her words. It was like she didn't have the energy for it. "I'm tired. And I'm not hungry, anyway."

"Forgive me for being worried about you, Santana."

She swallowed hard, biting back tears as she stared at the edge of the bed. That feeling in her chest was back, not the panicky one but the other one, the one which felt like a weight was being hung from her. She looked up only when she felt the bed dip and arms wrapping around her, pulling her close. She sighed, settling her head in Brittany's chest and just letting her hold her.

"What if it gets bad, though? Like, what if you're actually depressed."

"What do you mean?"

"You said that you wanted it to all go away," Brittany said sadly. "Did you mean that?"

Did she? Did she mean it? She remembered saying it, she remembered feeling it, but that was all she really remembered. And, yeah, she'd felt it that time she was in the bathroom the other day. She'd felt it in the moments after Sue had told her about the campaign ad, when she'd found herself pacing the bathroom and staring at herself in the mirror with absolutely no idea what she was going to do anymore.

No, she wasn't depressed, she told herself. She was just scared. Fear was the only thing coursing through her veins right now, and it felt like it would never stop. It felt like everything in her world was crumbling down around her, everything she knew was gone and she was stuck in this unknown purgatory, and she didn't know how to function anymore.

She chuckled dryly, wincing at how harsh her laugh sounded. "I'm not going to kill myself, Brittany."

The blonde stared at her for a while, a little too long so that it kind of felt like she was psychoanalysing her for a couple of seconds.

"Well, maybe we should speak to someone, anyway," she said eventually. "Like, about how you're feeling? Didn't Mr Schue give you that counsellor's number? Maybe they can help."

"I don't know."

"Or you could talk to Emma?"

She scoffed. "Yeah, nope."

Brittany sighed in frustration and sadness. "Santana, please. You're hurting. And you're not you and I don't like it."

"It's not your fault," the latina whispered. She went to say something else, but she wasn't sure what she was meant to be saying right now, so she didn't bother. She just let the room stay silent for as long as she could. She'd zoned out so much that she didn't really know how long they were lying in silence for.

"You still have to tell your mom," Brittany said.

"I know."

"I'm gonna help with that. As much as I can," the blonde continued, stroking Santana's slightly ruffled hair from sleeping on it. "Quinn's gonna help, she said, too. We'll figure out something, Sanny, I promise."

"Hmm," Santana murmured. "I hope it's gonna be a better idea that I have, because I don't know what I'm doing right now, Brittany. Like, at all."

"We will," she whispered. "I'm not gonna let you get hurt any time soon, Santana. I promise. And I keep my promises."