Santana and Brittany walked out of the choir room together, pinkies still linked. They had had a good practice that day; Mr. Schue had offered Santana the chance to sing a solo today (she didn't feel up to it), so instead Tina sang some slow song. Santana had been perfectly content to sing backup and dance with Brittany. It had felt relaxing to rest her head against Brittany's shoulder and sway against her. For once, she felt calm enough to let Brittany get close to her, and she was relieved. As they walked out of the choir room, Santana felt herself suddenly unable to look at the girl she loved, instead staring straight ahead. Her heart was thumping painfully in her chest, and she fought to keep her breathing under control.
"Hey, San?" Brittany whispered, leaning into Santana. "Why don't you come spend the night at my house? My mom's making hamburgers…" Her voice drifted off. Santana thought carefully about how she would respond.
"Let me check with Mr. Schue." Santana glanced to Brittany, who had straightened up. She could see the confused look in the blonde's eyes.
"Wait… Mr. Schue? Why?"
"I'm… staying with him for a little while."
"Why?" Oh here we go.
"My mom's out of town, and Mr. Schue is lending me his spare room."
"But San, your mom leaves you alone all the time..."
"Just leave it, Britt!" Santana snapped, causing Brittany to jump. "I'll check with Mr. Schue, just leave me alone!" She jerked her pinky free from Brittany's and powerwalked back down the hall. Her breath was coming in sharp ragged gasps, and tears were welling up in her brown eyes. Not again, why does this keep happening? She pounded on the choir room door. Thankfully, Mr. Schue was still in the reading over some sheet music. He tugged the door open and let the Latina pour herself into the room, hyperventilating and tugging on her hair.
"Santana!" he said loudly, trying to distract her and get her to focus on him. "Santana, just breath. Look at me and breath." He point at himself and stared at her. Santana squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as she could. "Just breath, in and out. In and out," he was repeating. It became a mantra for her, and she felt her heart rate and breathing slowing themselves down in time with Mr. Schue's words.
She finally calmed down enough to open her eyes. Mr. Schue was still staring at her nervously. "Santana, what happened? Did someone hurt you? Is Karofsky harassing you again?"
Santana shook her head. "I yelled at Brittany," she whispered, causing Mr. Schue to sigh heavily.
"Did she something that upset you?"
"No, of course not. Brittany doesn't even know how to insult someone." She paused. "She asked me to spend the night at her house tonight."
"Well, do you want to? We can stop at my place to get your stuff…?" He sounded pleased that it had been nothing more serious.
"No, it's okay. Brittany has a lot of my clothes at her place. So it'd be okay?"
"Sure," Mr. Schue shrugged, "as long as you feel safe there."
Santana stood and walked over to the window. The sunlight shone on her golden brown skin, and illuminated a single tear dripping over her stitched cheek. Mr. Schue followed her over, and placed an arm over her shoulder.
"There's nowhere I'd feel safer," she whispered.
X
Santana left the choir room, wiping the stream of tears that had poured down her face away. Brittany was seated against the lockers opposite the choir room, legs hugged to her chest and chin resting on her knees. She straightened up when she saw Santana walking towards her. Santana hated to admit it, but she was glad the blonde was still there. After dropping her purse next to the blonde, she sat heavily and leaned back on the lockers. Neither of them spoke for a while. Santana could feel the tears welling up in her eyes and spilling down her cheeks, and put her cast-encased arm up to her mouth. Brittany was staring at her, watching the brunette sob uncontrollably. She reached up and tried to tuck a lock of Santana's hair behind her ear, but the brunette jerked herself away and stared plainly at the wall. Her sobbing had ceased, but her chest was still heaving.
"San, what happened?" Brittany pleaded.
Santana shook her head. No, she couldn't say it out loud. It would make everything real again.
"It's okay, San. No one's going to hurt you anymore. No one will come near you ever again."
"He never left, Britt," Santana stammered. "I hear his voice. I can feel him. I see him in my nightmares." The Latina girl began to talk, unable to stop the flood of what had happened to her. Brittany merely sat in silence. As Santana got to the more graphic details, Brittany began to weep openly. As Santana described feeling his breath on her face and his weight on her body, Brittany grabbed her hand and squeezed it gently.
"Oh honey," she whimpered after Santana had stopped talking. Both of them were crying silently, tears pouring down their faces.
"I thought it would kill me," Santana whispered. "It's my fault. I pissed him off. It's all my fault. I deserved –"
"San, don't say that! You didn't do anything wrong. It is not your fault." They sat together in silence for a second before Santana spoke again.
"I wish it had. Killed me." Santana's voice cracked and tears leaked anew.
"Santana." Brittany was horrified. She tried to put a hand on Santana's shoulder, but the brunette twisted herself away. "I'm so sorry." She looked up at the choir room door. Mr. Schue was staring at the duo, sobbing silently and holding a phone to his ear. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. I love you." Mr. Schue hung up the phone, and kept staring at them. Brittany cautiously opened her arms, allowing Santana control of what her next move was. To her relief, Santana leaned into Brittany's shoulder, and allowed herself to be tightly wrapped in the blonde girl's arms. "It's okay. I'm not going anywhere."
"Santana?" Mr. Schue's voice echoed through the empty hall causing both of them to straighten up.
"They caught him."