Mercedes' POV

The sound of my phone buzzing woke me up from my daily nap. I was sleeping off the remainder of my muscle-relaxers, and for a moment I forgot where I was. I was hidden in the recesses of the reading room; somewhere in between my guilty pleasure bookcase and the romance bookshelf. I must have fallen asleep before I could make it to the bean bag. My neck hurt and there was drool on my arm.

I rose up, stretched my arms out and heard the popping of my joints. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. It was Santana.

"It's me." Santana said.

"Hey." I replied, feeling uneasy. There was a sense of foreign awkwardness to this conversation already, and we barely started. "Where are you?"

"Oh," She laughed. "Nowhere particular. I'm kind of on the move."

"Okay then. Where are you right now?"

"I'm almost out of Ohio."

"Almost out of Ohio is not a specific location." I replied.

"Why do you want to know? Is grandma asking where I am already?"

I rolled my eyes, annoyed. "No. Am I not allowed to care about your surroundings?"

Santana sighed. "No, you're not. Not when I need you to be here with me Wheezy. I miss you."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. Santana always had that effect on me. It was as simple as, I miss you, to get me going. Before she could say anything else I already had the prickle behind my eyes and the pinch in my throat.

"Santana." I said. "You need to come back."

"I told you. I'm okay."

"That's not what I asked."

"I know." She replied, before sighing. "I just need a little more time, Mercy."

I didn't know what to say to that. We were quiet for a moment.

"Hey, Mercedes?"

"Yeah?"

"Remember what I said, about making my mind up? Well, I decided that I don't want to leave for therapy just yet. I'm not ready. I want to explore this side of myself, of who I might be, before I become something I regret."

I nodded, even though I knew she couldn't see me. "I want you to, too."

"Thanks."

"So, anything special happening in Lima?" She asked, obviously changing subjects.

"No, well, not really…"

"Okay, something did happen. Care to explain?"

"Um," I said, "I actually wouldn't."

"I'm sorry," Santana started, "That wasn't a question. I meant to say, you better explain."

"Fine." And so I did, I told her everything that's been going on the past two days, and to my astonishment, she didn't interrupt; she just listened.

"It was Quinn, babe. She told your mom." Santana said finally.

"I know, well, I mean I figured it was but—"

"Mercedes, I know what you're doing." She interrupted. "You're trying to brush this over because believing that Quinn is screwing you over—again—is exactly what you didn't want to happen."

I bit my lip. "It's not, but it's not like I wasn't expecting this."

"Then what are you waiting on?" Santana asked, "I tried to give Quinn the benefit of the doubt, but my doubts weren't disappointed. People don't change."

"I know but—"

"But what? There is no excuse for the crap she pulls."

I was getting angry. I was getting angry a lot easier lately. "I know that! But there's no proof it was really Quinn. Maybe someone else told her, maybe mom heard about it from someone else."

"Are you serious?! Are you seriously going to turn your head in the other direction while she's fucking you over?" Santana exclaimed.

"No." I replied, trying to calm down. "But every time something goes wrong in my life I can't go pointing fingers at Quinn because she's the perfect scapegoat."

"She's not the perfect scapegoat Mercedes, she's the culprit!"

My eyes narrowed; there was no calming down around Santana. "You know what I think, Santana? I think you're afraid." I swallowed, gaining confidence with every word. "No, I know you're afraid. You don't want me to be friends with anyone else because you know that means less time spent on you. That's selfish Santana."

"I can't believe you'd say that to me."

"I can't believe you want to keep me to yourself; poor Mercedes, friendless and senseless. Never knows what's going on, right?" I snapped.

"That's not what I want. Besides, you have Kurt."

"Oh, fuck Kurt!" I practically yelled. My anger was at its peak again for the second time today. "You and I both know that as long as he has Blaine, everyone takes a backseat to him. I will always be third wheel with him, but with you, it's just us. But not anymore, because Quinn's in my life again. Therein lies the problem, right? You think you're going to be third wheel? Don't worry; I won't fall in love with her. Promise."

"You bitch."

"Well that makes two of us!" I hung up on her and was leaning up against my bookshelves before I knew it. I couldn't even think of the damage done, I was so pissed. I stuffed my phone in my pocket, then grabbed onto the bookshelf and pushed myself up.

I walked around to the threshold, about to leave, when I saw my mom sitting in of the bean bag chairs. She was examining her nails and humming absentmindedly. This was weird enough, but then mix with her not being glued to her phone checking for a make-nice dinner, coupled with her staring at me, and you have a total WTF situation. I didn't know what she was doing, but I could guess that she was waiting on me.

"Hey Mercedes." She said as I walked toward her. "I need to talk to you."

The first thought that came to mind was that she was going to get on to me for being friends with Santana again, or to scold me for not being ecstatic over my interview in a few months. But probably both.

"Okay." I said, slipping into a bean bag beside her. "What did you need to talk about?"

Mom cleared her throat and shifted, obviously trying to emit authority vibes while sitting in a bean bag chair. She looked at me. "Tell me about what happened between you and your father."

Hearing this, I couldn't help but feel underwhelmed. Didn't she hear us arguing though? "This morning?"

"What, is there something else I don't know about?" She asked.

"No I—I don't know."

"Okay. Are you going to fill me in with what happened earlier?"

Oh God, I thought. "What did dad say?" I replied, ready to argue my case after hearing his.

"Well," She said, rubbing her knees, "From my understanding, he told you about my plan for private school, and you apparently flipped out. Told him that I couldn't keep you from your friends just because I don't like them."

"Really," I started flatly, "Well he told you right."

She raised an eyebrow, amazed by my tone. If this were any other time, I would've checked myself. But I was feeling pretty reckless today. "Your father is prepared to go visit Dr. Russell. He says you had an outburst."

I felt a flare of anger so familiar it was like an old friend. "I'm a teenager, am I not allowed an outburst once in a while?"

Mom just looked at me for a moment. Slowly, like she thought I wouldn't understand, she said, "Donnel told me you're showing signs of… previous behavior."

"Meaning what?"

"We haven't seen him in a long time; we're thinking that we might have to increase the dosage of Celexa."

"That isn't necessary. I'm fine. One little fit and you're threatening to drug me up?" I shook my head, looking away. "That's insane."

"Mercedes, look at me."

I did. I already knew what she was pulling. "What, mom?"

"Your pupils are dilated."

"Okay."

"When you take the Celexa and your pupils dilate, you don't act like this." She sat back in the bean bag, rubbing a hand over her face and looking very tired. "I don't know what pills you're taking, Mercedes, but please stop. We don't want to go to Dr. Russell any more than you do. But you have to behave."

I wanted to break something, or scream. "Okay. Sorry."

She got up from the chair in the most dignified way she could manage and pulled me into a hug. "Your father and I love you very much."

I hugged her back, before letting go and going down the stairs and out of the house. I knew that I probably shouldn't go where I was headed considering my state of mind, but it was better than moping around the house. Even if that was what I was really doing anyway.

I didn't know where Sam lived, and in order to get to his house I needed to know. But I didn't want to call.

I sat in my car for a few minutes, looking around at the garage, and thought back to when Sam was right here with me. I still don't know why we didn't kiss. Why he didn't kiss me, actually. Because I was ready, more ready than I've ever been ready for something in my entire life. I stared down at my phone, and thought of everything going wrong in my life. How no matter how many times I cried for help, no one heard. How my selfish parents didn't care about the last child in the house. How none of my brothers visited or called anymore. How nobody cared. Then I started to cry.

This was all just such a mess. And I was so, so, so tired. If I were drive away in this car, right now, and run away from my problems like Santana did, I wouldn't have a Mercedes covering for me. I didn't have a friend like myself that would do for me what I've done for Santana. I had no one. The one person I would have considered I wasn't even sure could deal with me and all my problems. We barely knew each other. I knew that my secrets were plentiful, and my mistakes more. But I didn't want to be alone.

I wiped my eyes off with my shirt and inhaled. I picked up my phone again and found Sam in my contacts. I pressed talk hesitantly, and waited.

"Hey," I said after his hello, "Uh, could I come over to your house or we could meet somewhere or something? I really need to talk to you."

"Are you okay?"

I think about saying I am, and maybe flirting a bit, but I was tired of lying. "No."

"Oh."

"So…" I said slowly.

He was very quiet for a moment. "Come over."

Sam's POV

I was watching Avatar when Mercedes called me. It was almost eight o'clock, and she called asking if she could come over. I wasn't going to deny Mercedes access to my house, but I still couldn't help but be a bit worried over her tone. She sounded strange.

I didn't know when I became Dr. Phil, but this was doing nothing for my testosterone. All of the listening and advice giving—believe it or not— was not my thing. Even before all the financial problems rose, I never was so bluntly friend-zoned. I was never friend-zoned back in Tennessee because when I talked to girls and invested my time in them, I was not their friend.

Not to say that I didn't like being friends with Mercedes. I loved it, actually.

I sighed, walking to my bathroom to put on a dab of cologne before Mercy got here. I looked at myself in the mirror and what was behind me. My hair was longer than it had been in a few months, but I was too lazy to go get it cut. I thought I looked pretty decent today. Clean hair, clean shirt, and clean sweats. I mean, yeah, it wasn't fancy and I wasn't wearing the kind of stuff only people like the Jones and Fabrays could afford, but it was alright. I ran a hand over my chin and felt the slight stubble. I closed my eyes.

In truth, I didn't like wearing clothes that fit close to my body anymore. I wasn't interested in attracting attention. That wasn't me. It never was, but when I had to attract attention I did. After my family got out of the slump we were in, none of us has been the same since.

Dad's never home. He's always working I think, and if he's not working I don't know where he is. Mom doesn't work, her efforts were going toward being a housewife and desperately climbing the social ladder. I don't know what I'm trying to do. I guess I changed a bit, but only for the better.

I went back to my bed and sat, waiting for Mercedes to ring the doorbell. Mom was gone, I think she went to Mrs. Fabray's and dad was still at work, or whatever. The only people in the house currently were my siblings and I. I didn't care that my parents weren't around anymore because I stopped caring about their presence long ago. I think selling my body and working myself practically to death without them noticing played some part in that.

I yawned. I had applications to Universities I could be filling out, and homework that was due later on in the week, but I wasn't going to do it. I yawned again. The last thing I remember before dozing off is that Mercedes will call my phone to wake me up.

The next thing I knew, I was waking up to the sound of the doorbell. I slid off the bed and walked down the stairs, and to the front door. I pulled it open, so ready to see Mercedes' face. When I did I saw Mercedes in a hoodie and sweats, looking as tired as I was. I was already opening up my mouth to say hi when she shook her head and walked past me, into my house.

We were in the foyer, me staring at her, while she looked around. I was waiting for her to say something. She took a minute to breathe and gaze about the room. My house was nowhere near the palace-like mansion of the Jones' estate, but it was a home. She didn't look like she was scrutinizing my house, just looking. That was fine by me.

"I don't want to talk in the open," She said after a while. "Can we go to your room?"

Mercedes' POV

My mom would probably beat me like a step child if she knew how I was acting. I looked like a crack addict and I was going into a boy's room. How scary.

My head hurt, my eyelids were swollen and my cheeks were flushed. If I was intent on going into Sam's room to do the nasty, I wasn't making my case any better by looking nasty. I looked around his room that was half the size of mine. It sure wasn't huge in quantity, but it made up for it in quality. I liked his room. It seemed alive, and not infested with teen aged drama and depression.

I looked at the various superhero posters on all his walls before smiling. At a corner of his room there was a shrine-like place dedicated to all things Avatar related. It was mad cute. I turned around and glanced at him, trying not to notice him watching me. I didn't know how someone so adorable was still single. I stared at his lumpy bed longingly.

"Can we sit on your bed?"

He nodded. I sat cross-legged on his bed. It was gloriously lumpy just as I had imagined. I couldn't stop grinning.

"So what's going on?" He asked after slipping onto the bed beside me.

I told him everything. I told him about Quinn deserting me and popping back up again, I told him about Santana and her selfishly flaky ways. I told him about Kurt leaving me for Blaine, I told him about my brothers leaving me for college. I told him that my parents even left me too, for their careers. I said that I knew that they loved me, but it was still not enough. I told him about how everyone kept leaving me, no matter what I did.

"It's not enough, you know?" I was saying, "Money and gifts and clothes and stuff. Stuff can't mend a home, right? It can't hug me or wipe away my tears. It can't love me."

Sam looked at me and considered this. Then he said, "Well that explains a lot."

"What?"

"You have a lot of stuff."

"Yeah." I said flatly.

"Well," He started, shifting his eyes at me, "Your parents are attempting to make it better because they know what they're doing is wrong. They're trying really hard, Mercedes."

"You're taking their side?"

"No." He replied. "I'm on yours, definitely. But from my perspective, it's not your friends being flaky that's bothering you. It's your family. Because family's important, right?"

I didn't say anything. I just looked away from him, pouting. He kept talking.

"People do shitty things all the time to the ones they love. And it's impossible to try and understand, or even change that."

"But I shouldn't have to do anything!" I snapped, getting angry all over again. "It's not my fault I keep getting abandoned, it's not my damn problem that my parents have high demanding jobs! "

"It's not." Sam agreed.

"I'm still their kid, though. I still matter. They can't just float me away on a sea of antidepressants. I can't just be ignored." I stopped, swallowing the lump in my throat. I felt myself immediately deflate into despondency.

Finally I said, "Why do I keep getting treated like crap? I don't deserve this."

"You don't."

"I shouldn't have to put up with this."

"You shouldn't."

I blinked, hard. And before I could stop it, I was crying again. Big, blubbery, fat tears running down my face because of how unfair it was. I was crying as Sam held me, and cried even harder because for once I had a shoulder—literally—to cry on. I laid down, curling into a heap of pathetic on Sam's lap. I tried to say something, tried to make this situation less ridiculous, but my voice was ragged. I cried and cried, rain bursting from my eyelids. I couldn't stop. Just as I calmed down enough to breathe properly I thought of something else and the storm wreaked havoc again. I knew I was ruining Sam's jeans with my snotty mess, but he held me anyway. Sam told me to relax, and that it was going to be all right. Then, finally, as the sounds of his household lured my eyes closed, I believed him.

Okay, this is definitely a shorter chapter, but I didn't want it to get too long and take away from the context, because this is a huge turning point in the story. If anyone has read my oneshot-maybe-thingie H.A.T.E.U, don't fret! I just don't know what to do with it right now.

I have to say a huge THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I really love you guys. You keep me going, and I'm so thankful.

Please review this chapter and tell me your thoughts! Until next time!