Santana awoke in agonizing pain in a room far too bright to be anything but a hospital. Mr. Schuester was seated in the rocking chair at the foot of her bed, probably grading some poor losers Spanish test. She shifted her weight, sending a wave of pain up her right side. The groan she let out was enough to make her glee coach look up.
"hey," he murmured gently. He took a few cautious steps toward her and put a hand on her shoulder. She flinched at the contact, the memory of what had happened flooding back. "Santana, what happened?" he asked gently.
Santana couldn't meet his gaze, and chose to stare at the lamp in the corner. "he stole my purse. He just wouldn't stop hitting me." she heard Mr. Schue sigh pathetically, and she prayed that he was buying her story.
"Well, I have to get to class. Do you want me to call someone?" he murmured.
"No. My mom's out of town." That was a lie. Santana's mother was probably out with one of her many boyfriends. She would sometimes be gone for a week or two at a time, leaving Santana to mostly fend for herself, but no one knew that. She felt hot tears spring to her eyes and tried to fight back the wall of emotion that threatened to flood her. Everyone at McKinley thought of Santana Lopez as a badass, letting nothing faze her, but this was too much to handle. She felt a few tears leak out of her dark eyes, and fought to avoid Mr. Schue's gaze.
"Santana, it's okay to cry," he whispered as gently as he could muster with his heart breaking. "Can I… hug you?" He stared at the Latina, who finally looked back. A few seconds passed before she nodded and shifted in the bed. He sat gingerly next to her, leaned his head back and extended his arms over her narrow shoulders. She leaned her head into his chest and took a few heaving breaths. "It's okay. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere." Santana began to shudder uncontrollably, choked sobs pouring out of her mouth. Mr. Schue merely held her and rubbed her shoulders and hair.
"I'm right here."