Chapter 3

The next week went by in a similar way. Santana found a party to attend almost every night and on the few that she didn't she did an excellent job of drinking herself into oblivion alone. Drinking alone was, however, proving more dangerous than passing out at strange parties. When she was alone she often found herself standing naked in front of the mirror in the bathroom, a bottle of liquor in her hand, staring at the fading bruises on her body. When that happened, it didn't matter how drunk she was, she seemed unable to fight off the disgust she felt at her own image. She wished she could peel her skin off and rinse everything that was inside out. She couldn't help but feel like she was carrying some poisonous disease under her skin. Her body, usually a point of pride and a weapon to be used against the opposite sex, had become something ugly and weak. At this point she would usually finish off whatever bottle was in her hands and turn her music up until it drowned out any other thoughts until she passed out.

Santana was more vicious than ever in her taunts and insults at school and there appeared to be a magic bubble surrounding her as she moved though the halls that made people take a step back out of her way, as though they could feel the tension building in her like a fuse and were terrified to be near her when it blew.

Things seemed to have reached their melting point in Glee as well. Santana's verbal lashes at the other members, her poor attitude during rehearsals, and her continued failure to prepare any songs for Mr. Schue's assignments were becoming too much.

Surprisingly, it wasn't Rachel who eventually called her out on it, or even Mr. Schue, but Puck. Probably because he was the only one with enough balls to do so besides Brittany, and even she'd found herself stepping back from Santana lately after continuous brush offs and unreturned phone calls.

"What the hell is your problem, Santana?" Puck demanded, turning in his chair to face her. "If you're going to have such a shitty attitude, why show up at all?"

Mr. Schue opened his mouth, most likely to lecture Puck on his language, but Santana cut him off before he could even start.

"You're right, Puck," she said, standing from her back row seat, venom dripping from her words, "I don't know why I'm here. I don't need this shit. You don't want me here, I'm gone. You only had to say so. So fuck you and fuck the rest of you too!"

She could see Brittany rise from her chair out of the corner of her eye and hear Mr. Schue begin his, 'No, we do want you here- that's not what he meant,' as she started out of the room.

She stopped cold as a hand grabbed her wrist, the tight grip causing another time when hands had held her too tightly to flash in her mind, the ever-present rage bubbling over in an instant, and she spun around swinging. There was no warning to her violence and Puck didn't even have time to let go of her wrist before her fist connected with his face.

He howled in pain, his hands coming up to cup his jaw and wipe the blood from his split lip. "What the fuck, Santana!"

They stared at each other, Santana's eyes wide, her chest heaving, her fists clenched at her sides, while Puck looked back at her in shock. She could feel the residual panic and rage humming through her body like adrenaline. It wasn't the first time she'd hit Puck and it probably wouldn't be the last, but it was the first time she'd scared herself with her violence. It wouldn't have mattered whose hand had reached out to stop her, it could have just as easily been someone else, and the image of Brittany's bloody face in place of Puck's had her running from the room before anyone could stop her.

The rest of Glee club sat in shocked silence before Mr. Schue and Sam stepped forward to check on Puck. He shrugged off their concern with a sharp, "I'm fine." Mr. Schue half turned towards the door, planning to follow Santana when Brittany's voice stopped him.

"Mr. Schue, maybe you should let me go."

Will knew he should let Brittany go, knew that they were best friends, but New Directions was his responsibility and he needed to try to figure out what was going on for himself.

"I need to make sure she's okay, Brittany. I'll be right back. Finn, go get Puck some ice for his lip, okay?" Mr. Schue said and started down the hallway after Santana. He caught up with her as she opened her car door.

"Santana! Stop for a minute!"

He caught her car door as she started to pull it shut.

"What?" she practically screamed back at him.

Will stared hard at her, "What's going on?"

Santana scoffed at him and tried to pull the door shut again, but Mr. Schue held on tight, much to her annoyance. "Seriously, Santana, you punched Puck in the face. That's not like you. Insulting him, okay, but I've never seen you hit anyone. Are you alright?"

Santana turned towards him, the look of anger on her face almost making him take a step back.

"How do you know that's not like me, huh, butt chin? That happens to be at least the fourth time I've punched Puck, so fuck off and leave me alone. Your concern is misplaced and seriously irritating so take it to someone who cares, okay?" Santana grabbed the door handle with both hands and yanked it from Will's grasp, ignoring the sad, disappointed look on his face. She threw the car into reverse and drove away from the only people who actually cared about her with a squeal of rubber tires.

Will stood in the parking lot wincing at the sound. He'd be the first to admit that he didn't know much about Santana beyond the rumors that circulated the school: that her dad was a rich doctor, that she had a reputation for sleeping around, and that most people at McKinley were scared of her. He'd heard and witnessed himself on several occasions how much of a bitch Santana could be, but most of the time he got to see her smiling along with the rest of the glee club, passionate about the music and enjoying herself. He'd sort of noticed in the last week or so that she wasn't smiling as much and had started lashing out at the kids in glee club again, but if he was honest with himself, he didn't really pay much attention to her. He hadn't seen this coming.

He walked back into a quiet rehearsal room. Puck was glaring around the ice pack at everyone who looked his way, Quinn and Artie were trying to calm down Brittany, who looked on the verge of tears, and everyone else just looked kind of shell-shocked.

All eyes were on him as he closed the door, "Puck, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Puck growled. He was mad and embarrassed that Santana had punched him in front of everyone else, but most of all he was worried. He'd seen the look in her eyes after she'd hit him and he knew it would take a lot to put that look into Santana's eyes. He'd known Santana for a long time, and despite their rocky on-again, off-again relationship, they were friends. It made him want to track down whatever was responsible for hurting her and hope it was something he could beat to a pulp.

"Does anyone know what's going on with Santana? "Will asked the group.

Everyone just shook their heads in silence for a minute, at a loss, until Rachel, being Rachel, spoke up, "Well, I know we're all worried about Santana, but she clearly wasn't enjoying being here this last week. If she wants to quit, that's her choice and I think we need to get back to practicing. We can't let Santana and her dramas distract us right now." Eleven pairs of eyes turned to stare at her with varying degrees of disgust, even Lauren, who hated Santana more than most thought the remark was cold.

Will clapped his hands once, "Rachel's right, guys. There isn't anything we can do for Santana right now besides be here for her when she comes back, but we can get focused on next year's sectionals." Heads were nodded in grudging agreement, but the rehearsal that followed was definitely half-hearted.