The next night, I'm laying in bed. I don't know why my heart is beating a thousand miles an hour, or why I feel fevered. You're not coming, so why should I feel like you could be right outside my door? I'm obsessing, I need to stop. Needless to say I'm dressed for the occasion. G-string, and t-shirt.

The phone is ringing.

"Hello?"

"I'm outside. Can you let me in?"

I look out the window, and there you are. Goosebumps rise on my skin even though I feel like my skin is on fire. I practically jump down the stairs, modesty be damned. I open the door, and you're not shy this time. You grab me and practically pull me up the stairs. We get to my room and lock the door. You use that opportunity to hold me against it.

"He isn't enough, Santana." You whisper against my lips. My knees are weak, and my heart is hurting despite the fact that you're here, kissing my lips instead of his.

"Please," I whimper. "Break up with him." You act like you don't hear me, and continue to kiss, touch, and caress. I am putty in your hands. Without a word, you lead me to the bed. I notice a theme occurring in front of my eyes. We're back to the beginning; the secret touches, the overwhelming passion. If I wasn't so aroused I'd probably feel insulted.

"I like what you're wearing." You whisper.

"I wore it for you." I croak. It's not very romantic, I'll admit, but for me, it was like I answered the door in a wedding gown. You don't take long to get rid of it. As I lay back, I turn my head toward the clock. You're early-it's 2:30 am.

Then I feel your lips.

When I was about six years old, I went to a cousin's house that had a large pool. I'd never seen a pool so large and inviting, blue water sparkling and seducing me into jumping in. I didn't know how to swim. I tried to stick my foot in, just to feel it's coldness upon my skin, but I tripped, and I was in the pool. I struggled for as long as my 6 year old limbs could thrash about, until I was exhausted. I just lay face down in the water, slowly sinking. The world around me began to get hazy, and fade to darkness. Right then, my cousin jumped into the pool and dragged me out. I took in a deep breath, and I survived. The moment I gave up has haunted me for my entire life. Being with you in this moment, feeling your tongue on my flesh, the loss of control... I feel as if I'm six years old.

"Oh God..." I groan, shaking like a leaf while riding the waves of climax. You lean back, looking at me as if you're saying 'Have I done good?'. I feel like throwing up because I know you just think you're making me happy, not teasing me with impossible promises and transparent acts of love. I'm so utterly helpless, just as you are naive. I put my hands over my eyes, and all I can do is whisper.

"Leave... please." My voice trembles with its intensity. This time you understand, and you kiss me on the lips; my taste is on your tongue. When I raise my hands from my eyes, you're gone.

I get up and walk to a book shelf. There's a quote I remember. I open the index, and once I've found what I was looking for, I flip the pages and read it aloud.

"The guilty one is not she who commits the sin, but the one who causes the darkness." At that moment, I let myself cry.