A/N: Sup, guys. It's been a while, I'm sorry. :(
So. This chapter. Not a chapter. We'll get a little change of pace, so I thought it would be better to prepare everybody for the heavy stuff ahead.
Any questions, I'm here. Don't panic. Enjoy!
(And drop a review if you feel like it.)
One.
As you pace around the street with a sour taste in your mouth, kicking a rock every now and then, your phone rings once, twice, three times, claiming not to be ignored and failing miserably. It's breakfast time and Brittany's not there.
The day is as gray as it feels. You walk back to your car, but not before checking your phone six times. Thunder roars just above.
Two.
You got clothes all around the floor, papers you'll never read again and expensive books opened in awkward angles, with pages folded involuntarily. Quinn's banging on your door for twenty minutes straight now, but the music is so loud and the door is too far. Your phone lays forgotten at the table. You checked it forty six times. You made twenty three calls.
"Maybe she just needs space."
Yeah, maybe she does.
Three.
"How did it go?"
"Okay"
Quinn used to let you ramble about your tests when you were in high school. Her grades were better, but she never said a single word about it.
Figures.
"That's good", she pushes a small cup into your hands. Smells like tea, and you scrunch your nose to it. Quinn smiles just a little. "I know. But it helps. You need to sleep now that tests are over."
"I'm not tired". Your vision is blurred like there's smoke. Where's your phone?
A sigh. "Santana, you need-"
"Something is wrong, Q. Something is very wrong. She said-"
"Drink your tea", she is at the door and you didn't see when she moved. "It's been three days. Just three days. Maybe she got caught up with a ton of work. Maybe she lost her phone. Please. Get some sleep, you look like crap."
She's already gone when you nod. When you wake up it's still dark and the wind drops a cup full of cold tea all over your papers.
Four.
Dr. Syed said you improved a lot and that you should've thought about spending so many hours at the clinic before. He's also satisfied with your "behavior adjustment", or so he calls it.
It's been a few days since the last time he heard you speak.
Five.
It's Saturday and someone is moving your sheets out of your body. You shut your eyes fiercely.
"Enough is enough, Santana."
"What are you-", you clear your throat. Ouch.
"Sam wants to see you. He's stuck at work, so we're going to see him."
"I have to-"
"You don't have to do shit. Get dressed. I want you ready in 10. Move."
When you see Sam and Mike sitting on the furthest sofa, you know you should've seen it coming.
"Nope", Quinn grabs your wrist and pull you down to sit with them. There's a cup of hot coffee in your hands and it wouldn't look so bad if you split it all over her perfect little blonde hair.
"What happened to her?", you turn directly to Mike because it's useless to start a conversation.
You know a whole lot about body language. And as you see his shoulder dropping just the slightly bit, and the way he looks down before trying to make eye contact, but only managing to look to a point over your ear, you brace yourself.
"Santana, I'm sure you and Brittany talked about a lot of things", he put his fingers through his hair and grabs his knee with the other one, "what do you know about Ashley?"
"Who's Ashley?"
He misses a beat. You notice. Shit.
"I'm sure she must've mentioned, you know, like you said, we talked a lot all the time", you fake a smile and a shrug, "what about her?"
He doesn't smile back. Everybody is looking at you like you forgot to rehearsal your lines.
"There's only so much I can tell you, if Brittany herself didn't. I wouldn't feel comfortable with myself if I got through the subject with you without Britt's permission", there's a piece of paper in his hands and as you fiddle with your fingers and prey for the ground to swallow you whole, he puts it in your hands and says that's the only thing he can do for you right now.
He's already gone by the time you worked up courage to face everybody again. You look at the paper and realize you don't have any answer and a thousand new questions.
It's a graveyard address.