It was dark by the time they arrived at the building. Will had his left arm around Santana's shoulders as he led her down the hallway to his apartment. She was walking cautiously, either painfully, nervously, or both, stepping gingerly over the threshold and into Will's living room. He turned down the hallway and opened the first door on the left.
"This'll be your room," Will said quietly, coaxing her to follow him in. It was small, with a twin bed against the far wall. The room was pretty plain, with white sheets on the bed and no photos or posters on the wall. "I know it's not much – "
"Mr. Schuester, it's perfect," Santana interjected. "I don't know how to thank you." She looked up at him gratefully before turning and sitting heavily on the bed.
"I just want to keep you safe. You can stay here as long as you need to. The, uh, bathroom's across the hall and my bedroom is next door. If you need anything at all – "
"I'll be fine," she whispered, and Will left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He stepped into his room exhaling heavily under the weight of his emotions. He was still completely dumbstruck that some asshole had violated the broken girl in his spare room, and Will wanted revenge, even though he knew that he couldn't do anything. The bed creaked under his weight as he sat down and leaned back. What was he going to tell the Glee Club when Santana came back with a broken arm, six stitches in her cheek, a black eye and absolute terror in her torn apart heart?
X
Santana lay in Mr. Schuester's spare bed for hours. She knew that she should feel exhausted but she couldn't bring herself to close her eyes. Every time she did, she would hear something whistle or creak outside and rocket upright in terror. Every time she closed her eyes, she was back in that alley and could feel his weight on her. Finally, no longer able to stand being in that tiny claustrophobic room, Santana gingerly opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. She was wearing a pair of his pajama pants and one of his t-shirts, since she had none of her clothes with her, and they rustled a bit as she walked out into the living room. For the first time, she realized that he had a sliding glass door that opened to a small balcony with a beautiful view into Faurot Park. She could see a crescent moon through the trees, and a slight breeze blew her hair back as she stepped onto the balcony and stood at the railing.
She looked out over the park. Mr. Schue's apartment was high up, probably the tenth floor. She could jump and it would all be over. She would never have to hurt again. Santana inhaled the crisp midnight air. It felt refreshing and cleansing to take it in and let it out. Breathing in that night air felt like the one thing she could control. God, she couldn't even control her own body anymore. Every time Mr. Schuester touched her, she flinched and fought to restrain her breathing. Her heart would begin to race and she would clench her eyes shut.
That… that drunk asshole had taken everything from her, and she didn't know if she would ever be able to be herself again. What about Brittany? Santana gasped uncontrollably. Would she ever be able to let the blonde girl, the love of her life, touch her again? A few tears welled up and dripped down her tired face. She slammed her wounded arm against the metal railing, causing it to ring and pain to shoot through her entire side. She could jump now and it would all be over.
X
Mr. Schuester woke with a start. After taking a deep breath, he began to relax. It was nearly silent in his small apartment, which meant that Santana had finally fallen asleep. He crept silently out of bed and plodded quietly to Santana's open door. He stuck his head in to find the bed completely unslept in and empty.
Crap. She had run. He jogged out to the living room and saw the open glass door and the silhouette standing at the railing swaying forward slightly. Mr. Schue slowed, stepped to the door and knocked on it, causing the brunette in front of him to jump and whip to face him.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to surprise you," he said, his hands up in amnesty. "Couldn't sleep?"
Santana fought back the urge to start crying again, and nodded.
"Are you scared?"
A beat, and another nod.
"Come on inside, Santana," he said, stepping onto the patio.
"I can still feel him on me, Mr. Schue. I can still feel his breath and his weight on me. He's never going to leave me alone!" she stated emphatically, a few tears oozing down her face. Mr. Schue took her in his arms and ushered her back inside. He had no clue how long she'd been out there, but he knew it was too cold to stay out there in just a t-shirt for much longer. "D'you want some chamomile tea? It always helps me relax." She nodded, her eyes trained on the coffee table. He was puttering around the kitchen, dishes clinking quietly.
"Mr. Schue?"
He stuck his head into the living room, a concerned expression on his face. "Yeah?"
"What's gonna happen when I…" She gulped. "When I go back to school?" Mr. Schue reentered the living room holding to dark mugs. She accepted hers from him and inhaled the warm vapors.
Mr. Schue placed a hand on her back. "I don't know, Santana. I don't know." He rubbed her back gently, and Santana let out a sigh.
"I'm scared, Mr. Schue."
"It's okay to be scared, but I'm not going to let anyone hurt you ever again." A small smile tugged at the corners of Santana's mouth as she took a sip of the tea and exhaled heavily. They sat in silence on the couch for a while, sipping their tea and thinking.
Mr. Schue broke the silence first. "D'you want to go back tomorrow?"
Santana paused, and finished off her tea. "I think so. I think it'll help get things, you know, back to normal… I don't know."
"You can come to my office at anytime if you get scared. You know that right?" Santana yawned, causing Mr. Schuester to chuckle. "See? The tea worked."
Santana smiled again, this time a bigger and more genuine one. "It did." They stood up together and walked back to their respective bedrooms, leaving the teacups for the next morning. Santana sat gingerly on the edge of the bed and swung her legs up, yawning again. Out of paternal instinct, Mr. Schuester grabbed the thick comforter and tucked it snugly over the brunette. He tucked her bangs back a bit, leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Sleep well, kiddo."
"Night, Mr. Schue."