A/N: This chapter, unlike the others, is from Santana's POV. Also, there is a scene in here that may seem familiar, but read it in full. It has been slightly rearranged and altered to fit this story better. Hope you enjoy, and sorry for the delay in posting!

I felt a cold, sweaty hand tugging at my arm, but each time I tried to open my eyes, I was blinded by the sun bearing down on me.

Why is it so bright?

"Santana Lopez! ¿Qué diablos haces? GET UP RIGHT THIS INSTANCE!"

I felt myself being tugged into an upright position, and I sat up and looked around.

Am I outside?

I looked around again for a moment, trying to take in my surrounds. I was still in the tiny hut on the playground where Brittany and I must have fallen asleep the night before.

"SANTANA! ¡Mírame!"

I look over at all the yelling, and instantly jump up, banging my head on the ceiling of the plastic playground we were in. As I rubbed my injury I climbed out and stood at attention, staring at a much older version of myself.

Shit! Shit, shit, shit!

I looked over at Brittany, who had climbed out the other way, and was now ghost white. We had talked about what we would do if our families (specifically my grandmother) ever caught us, but we never thought it would be this soon-the morning after our first date. We are all just staring at each other, different emotions running across all of our faces. I feel fear and confusion, and I can tell that Brittany shares those with me. But she also seems to have a touch of sadness across her face. It breaks my heart to see her looking this way; it breaks my heart to see her hurt. My attention is diverted back to my grandmother-the wake-up call-when she obviously clears her throat, wanting me to look at her.

I didn't look at her. I couldn't. So I looked at my feet.

Finally I sputter out, "What are you doing here, abuelita?

"Well I should ask you the same damn thing, mija! Do you have any idea what time it is? Or how long Mrs. Pierce, tú madre y yo have been looking for you? I called you probably twenty times! Why didn't you answer? Why were you sleeping here? With..." She paused and looked over at Brittany. A disgusted look crossed her face and I could tell she was doing all she could to keep from slapping Brittany across the face. "Santana, what are you doing here with her, like that?" As she referred to Brittany, she lowered her voice to a sneer and nodded her head in Brittany's direction, as if I wouldn't have known who she was talking about. I silently slid my phone out of my pocket to check for the missed calls. It was off. The battery had died.

Great.

"It's almost one o'clock, Santana. Brittany was supposed to be home at eleven. Her mother called us looking for her, because she said you two were sleeping over. Now, do you want to explain what this," she pointed her finger between the two of us and towards the hut, "is all about?"

There was silence for a few moments, until the lone blond opened her mouth.

"Ms. Lopez, I can explain." The sound of Brittany's voice surprised me. I didn't expect her to speak, but I was grateful for it, because I was at a loss for words.

"No, Brittany. I don't care what you have to say. I want to hear this from my mija, gracias." Her voice dripped with disdain as she thanked Brittany in Spanish.

"No, Abuela." Brittany used the familiar term, the one she had used with her for years. It seemed to strike a chord as my grandmother softened slightly and turned towards Brittany for the first time today. "You need to hear this from me, because it's my fault, and I'm not going to let Santana take the blame for something I did."

We both just stared at Brittany. She was being so bold, standing up to my grandmother that way. The tone of her voice when she said she wasn't going to let me take the fall was so... so... protective. She was protecting me, and I had to hide a small smile cross my face when I realized where Brittany was going with this.

She's going to take the fall to hide us. To shield me from trouble.

"Abuela, I got drunk at BreadStix, and told Santana I needed her to take care of me. I knew I was going to be sick, and I knew I couldn't handle it on my own. I needed fresh air, so we walked here, and she held my hair back and got me water and all that good stuff. Then we just accidentally fell asleep. I swear we didn't mean to. It's all my fault, and I know how irresponsible I am, and I won't blame you if you don't want her to see me. But please do not be mad at Santana for doing the right thing and staying with a friend in need."

She's good.

My abuela just stared at Brittany, and then at me, and then back at Brittany for almost two minutes before speaking again.

"Santana, let's go. You have things to do around the house. We'll talk about all of this later. Brittany, you can walk home from here, correct?"

"Yes, Ms. Lopez."

"Good. You will see Santana at school on Monday, I'm sure, but you are not to call or text or come over until I have a chance to talk to Santana about this. Is that clear?"

They stared into each other's eyes, both expressing pure contempt for the other. I felt like I was being pulled between two of the most important women in my life, and I didn't know who I wanted to win the stand-off. I really really care for Brittany, and I love being with her. The thought of being cut off from her for the next few days cut straight to my heart when I heard my grandma's words, but it was what I expected. After what felt like an eternity of a silence that said so much between the two of them, Brittany spoke again.

"Yes, ma'am. You're perfectly clear."

She looked over at me and her gaze softened. She still looked pained, and I knew we were both savoring the final moments we had of looking at each other before she pulled me to her car. We didn't say anything as we walked in opposite directions to our respective cars, but we didn't have to. We were both simply replaying the conversations we had the night before. That's what we would have to live on for the next few days.

When my grandmother and I got into the car, I immediately turned to her.

"How did you find us?"

"Well, around eleven-thirty Brittany's mother called the house looking for her. When I told her you two hadn't come home last night, we put two and two together and figured you had gotten drunk and stayed elsewhere. We looked all over the place, and called many of you and Brittany's other friends' parents. But no one had seen you. So I went to BreadStix, not knowing where else to even begin looking for you. I saw your car and knew you couldn't have gotten far without it. From there, it wasn't hard to find you two, seeing as though your feet were tangled up with hers and sticking out of that playground."

I silently nodded, understanding. It all made sense, though I cringed every time she changed her tone of voice when referring to Brittany. The hate that filled her vocals saturated the car, and I felt dirty for almost the entire ride home. When we pulled into the driveway, she stopped me from getting out of the car. She had more to say.

"Santana, I don't know if I believe the whole, 'got drunk and couldn't drive' shpeel that she gave me, but that's still no excuse for the position I found you two in this morning. No one should ever see that." She stopped talking, but I could tell she wasn't actually done. "I don't like you being friends with her anymore. I don't like the path she is bringing you down. She's getting drunk, and bossing you around and forcing you to take care of her. And she's putting you in those positions. She's just using you, and she's forcing you to sin, mija!"

That's it. I had had enough.

"Abuelita, STOP."

"SANTANA!"

"No, abuela. I don't care about manners right now, because you are crossing lines that I didn't even know existed. First of all, you don't have to act like it pains you to talk about her every time you speak her name. Secondly, we were both drunk last night. Yes, I was drunk, too. And it wasn't the first time. I'm not the little girl I used to be. I'm not the little granddaughter that watched you knit for hours while you insulted me for years. I'm growing up. I'm meeting people and making friends, and believe it or not, you can't pick and choose my friends like you did when I was little. You can't just stop letting me see someone because you saw them pick their nose or their parents are Jewish or any of the annoying reasons you used to come up with to eliminate my childhood friendships." I took a deep breath. She started to talk again, but I quickly cut her off.

"Yes. Your fears are true, abuelita. I love girls the way I'm supposed to feel about boys. It's, it's just something that's always been inside of me, and I really want to share it with you because I love you so much. But you're making it so hard for me right now." I took a another breath. "I want you to know me… who I really am. When I'm with Brittany, I finally understand what people are talking about when they talk about love. And I've tried so hard to push this feeling away and keep it locked inside. But every day just feels like a war. And I walk around so mad at the world, but I'm really just fighting with myself. I don't want to fight anymore, I'm just too tired. I have to just be me. But you are so special to me. I've watched you my whole life, and you've always been so strong, done exactly what you believe, and never cared what anyone else thought of you. I want to be like you. I want to be strong. But I can't be strong with this secret inside, so I won't let it be a secret anymore."

We sat in silence in the car for an eternity.

"Please, abuelita, say something."

"Everyone has secrets, Santana. They're secrets for a reason. I want you to leave this house. I don't ever want to see you again…"

"Abuelita, please… you don't…"

"Go!"

"I'm the same person I was to you this morning!"

"No. You made your choice. Now I have made mine. It is selfish of you to make me uncomfortable. The sin is in the scandal when people talk about it aloud. Get out. Get out of this car, and then get out of our house."

"Abuela…" It barely left my lips through the tears threatening to spill out over my cheeks. "I don't want to leave, can we please just tal…" My sentence was cut short by a stinging pain on my cheek as my grandmother's hand collided with my face. Again, she slapped me again, and again. Three times. I grabbed her hand and pulled it down. I didn't hurt her, I just held her arm away to prevent her from hitting me again, and then I looked up again and to her face. I could barely make out the blurry figure in front of me through my teary eyes.

My hearing, however, was still precise enough to hear every horridly low and hateful word that came out of her mouth.

"Don't touch me. Me disgusto."

I threw open the door, still barely able to make out the sidewalk to the porch in front of me. I thrust myself to the door, almost in slow motion, still hearing Spanish slurs behind me as I ran up to my room.