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Trigger warning for this chapter again.
Quinn was worried. Well, worried was an understatement. Santana had now been gone almost two hours. Something was definitely wrong. For what felt like the thousandth time, she turned to an increasingly emotional Rachel. "Surely if we explain...this is so out of character. They have to take that into consideration.". The small brunette sighed and shook her head before standing and walking over to Quinn who was leant against the breakfast bar separating the kitchen from the living space.
"Quinn, be rational. It's not even been two hours yet. This is New York. It's going to be extremely hard to get a full on police search after twenty four hours, let alone two.". Her tone was stern but her voice held an understanding edge. Santana was one of her best friends. They had grown extremely close whilst living together and the feisty girl being awol for so long was beginning to truly scare her, and that was slipping through into her demeanor. No matter how she tried to hide it from the blonde she was there to comfort and support.
With another sigh, Rachel picked her phone up from the marble surface behind them and pressed re-dial whilst looking to her blonde friend. "We'll call Kurt again, ok?.".
Quinn nodded solemnly. She knew how these things worked. She really did. But it didn't stop the constant itch to call 911 and scream down the phone, or to go to the local station and refuse to leave before every officer had seen a picture of her beautiful, perfect girlfriend so they could look for her. She could explain that Santana is so perfect she would never leave her or her friends hanging like this. Ever.
But the Yale student knew nothing would happen. She would be turned away or ignored until the necessary amount of time had passed to justify even the slightest bit of interest from the police Pushing the burning sensation back behind her eyes, she absentmindly played with the silver bracelet on her wrist as she watched Rachel talk lowly to Kurt.
QSQSQS
Kurt put his phone back into his satchel and jogged to catch up with Puck and Mike. The duo had been more than happy to help look for the absent Latina when he called.
Absent.
That sounded better in his mind than missing. Santana couldn't be missing. If someone went missing in New York, it was usually for a bad reason.
As he stopped beside them, he realised where they were looking. He quickly shook his head. "No, S wouldn't come down here. She knows not to, that it's dangerous.".
Puck shrugged then stepped into the alley. "We can't find her anywhere else. This is in the middle of your apartments. Maybe she took a shortcut and...". He trailed off not wanting to voice his thoughts.
"AND WHAT PUCK!?". Snapped Kurt. His fear over what may have happened to his friend bursting through his thinly veiled charade of composure.
"Slipped on some ice or something." added Mike, looking between the two. "She may have hit her head and she's all dazed. We should go check.". For a moment the Asian man looked between his two friends, before pushing passed Puck and walking down the service alley.
QSQSQS
Conciousness ebbed back and forth. Her mind fuzzy, her tongue thick. She could feel her body shivering, but couldn't feel the cold. She didn't know how long she had lain there. Still. Like a frightened animal, frozen. Her heart pounded rapidly as her mind flicked through fuzzy details. She remembers him, the smell of his body odour and liquor that coated his breath. Her brain desperately tried to recollect something else. Something important.
Quinn.
Quinn was back at the apartment...alone. She had to get to her, she had to make sure she was ok.
Rach and Kurt were waiting on her too. The key. She promised to take the spare to them. She had to get up. No matter how much pain she was in, she had to move and breath and live. She had to get to her friends. To her girlfriend.
Slowly and with much pain, Santana raised herself to a slouched, but seated position. Her head ached with a ferocity she was sure would cause her to black out, but she breathed through the pain and leant against the wall behind her. Her vision was blurry and she felt nasious, but she was determined to get up, to get to her loved ones.
With a shaking hand, the tan girl brushed blood soaked hair from her face and assessed her injuries.
Her head was cut, and there was a large lump on the side of it. Her jaw ached and also felt swollen, her ribs burned with every breath she took.
Hoody. She thought. Looking down the raven haired girl suddenly felt vomit push up through her throat. Quickly she leaned to the side and emptied her stomach onto the cold floor. She was in nothing but her bra. Her panties were a torn mess laying beside her and her jeans were wrapped around her ankles. Bruises littered her thighs along with blood. As she wretched, fresh tears began to flow, sobs permiating every inward breath. Every gasp of air felt like fire and lead. Hot and heavy. Her eyes were now blurred with tears as well as from the effects of the concussion she had suffered. The world was again far away and Santana was stranded alone in a dark place with nothing but fear and pain for company.
She was lost in her head, reliving the horror she had been through not long before. The weight of his body. The feel of his rough hands. The sound of his grunting.
She was so lost in her mind, she didn't see the man crouch in front of her. She didn't see his kind blue eyes fill with tears and sadness. Neither did she feel his hand gently touch her shoulder. Instead, Santana felt the rough and calloused hand of her rapist grab her shoulder.
QSQSQS
The three young men walked solemnly down the dark, eerily quiet alley. Mike was on the left with Kurt in the middle and Puck on the right. Three pairs of eyes scanning the dusk lit space hoping not to see who they so desperately wanted to find. Only the sound of their breathing and distant New York traffic permeating the thick atmosphere that had settled around them.
Then it happened. Kurt's eyes caught sight of a bedazzled white converse allstar. His breath caught and his pace quickened. Soon enough he rounded the dumpster that blocked his view and his stomach dropped as his heart shattered. He had found her. His beautiful, feisty and loving friend. He had found Santana. But the girl in front of him only resembled her slightly. Darkening bruises and blood littered her once glowing skin. She was shivering and sobbing, wretches ripping through her body. The NYADA students ears registered Mike's voice trying to calm an angry sounding Puck as the latter snapped and growled at an emergency operator one of them had called. But he didn't care for the drama unfolding behind him, only for the girl in front of him. The girl who still hadn't realized the presence of her friends.
Slowly, the tall boy knelt, his eyes filling with tears as he did. He steadily reached out and placed the slightest of pressure on the now pale girls shoulder.
All of a sudden Santana recoiled and a guttural scream left her body. Kurt didn't see what was coming as much as he felt it. Her hand reached out instinctively and hit him hard in the side of the face. Rabid cries and violent thrashing followed from the latina. Kurt took the brunt of the hits in a blur, but soon he found himself wrapped around his friend. Arms encircling her body protectively, whispered words of comfort flowing as freely as his tears. Santana began to calm. Her struggle lessened and the former cheerleaders breathing evened out. It was only when the girl went limp did he realise she had passed out. Loosening his hold on her, the world around him began to seep back. Blue lights flashed harshly against the now dark alley. Two paramedics were running toward him and Santana. Puck was on his knees, his face near the gravel, sobbing uncontrollably and Mike was stood staring at the chaos around him, occasionally flicking his eyes to the phone in his hand. Kurt noticed he looked panicked, and soon he realised why.
The Asian boy lifted the iPhone to his ear after swiping the screen and answered with a tight and raw voice. "Quinn.".
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