A/N: This story can be read as a stand alone fic or as a prequel to A New Morning.
Chapter 01: Santana
Shelby Corcoran loves her job.
When she was thirteen her parents first asked her to babysit her little cousin Mike. He was only four years old and quite an endearing little pain in the ass sometimes. He'd cry over literally everything so young Shelby was anything but thrilled to be trusted with this responsibility.
He's already eaten.
He needs to sleep at eight.
We'll be home around midnight.
Call us if you need anything.
And then the two of them were alone.
Right as the door closed Shelby saw Mike's lower lip start to tremble so she picked him up and did the one thing she could think of that moment: she started to sing. Little Mike calmed down immediately and it was then that Shelby first understood her gift.
She was good with kids.
"I'm sorry."
He was the only one who ever uttered those words and yet they barely reached Santana. She doesn't remember what the officer looked like or what his name was and she doesn't remember anything else he said or if he tried to touch her shoulder. She clearly does remember, though, how she went deaf for a couple of seconds and how her vision blurred; she remembers how the nightmare of a life turned into hell as her last anchor to reality was violently being ripped from her chest and splattered right into her dad's grave. Now she feels like everything that ever made sense in this world lies buried six feet deep beneath bitter grains of soil and mud and all the disdain the heavens have rained upon her.
Humans are frail and destiny has screwed her over.
There's no one left to even look her in the eye.
When Shelby first told her parents she wanted to be a teacher they didn't take her seriously. Later they tried to talk her out of it. "Music?" they sneered.
Yes, music.
It seemed like the obvious choice and up until now she's never regretted it once, not because of the low pay, not because of the low status, and not because of this constant nagging voice in her head that told her she wasn't doing enough for the kids.
On days like this, though, when she sits at her desk long after her last class is over and goes through exam after exam, she finds it tough to be fair to everyone and she feels her enthusiasm slowly slip away. The red marker in her hand is just as great of a responsibility as watching after little Mike and Shelby takes it seriously, even though she's tired, even though not all of her students seem to pay her the same respect. But they're kids, she reminds herself. And it's their prerogative to be immature.
She flips over the page in front of her and her eyes catch the name 'David Palmer'. David is a good boy, always respectful towards her, kind at heart and he has a really nice voice, too. Unfortunately his grades don't match that image and Shelby overheard a conversation in the teacher's lounge that he's probably going to have to repeat the year.
As she goes through his exam it becomes terribly clear that he's going to fail. She shakes her head and leans back for a second. If he fails David will be one step closer to summer school. Maybe it will even be the last nail in the coffin.
One
Step
Two
Step
Three
Step
Four
Every breath seems like a burden and after hiding at home alone for two weeks straight it's almost impossible to walk down these hallways again. Every motion is an act, a practiced routine and there's nothing sincere about anything she does. Santana doesn't do anything but to breathe and let her body do the rest.
She opens her locker and pulls out her biology book.
She places the book in her bag.
She swings the bag over her shoulder and closes the locker.
One
Step
Two
Step
Three
Step
Four
She knows it can't go on like this. Her dreams have returned.
Ever since she's been little she's been haunted by this vision, although the images are never clear. She's somehow there and then she's somehow not, like she quit existing but not entirely. She can't see everything but she knows a lot; she's not a ghost and yet not real, either. As if something important had been ripped off of her and now she's always a little off, like a second behind things or in some alternative dimension that's starting to overlap with the reality she used to know.
It used to be just that – a dream. She'd close her eyes and fall asleep terrified, but the moment she woke up everything was the way it was supposed to be.
But then one day it became more than that – a dream. She can't remember the exact moment it happened. Maybe it was something that changed gradually, like shadows sneaking away from the ever wandering sunlight throughout the day until they get to grow dark and threatening at dusk and finally cover everything and come to life at night, telling Santana it's time to close her eyes again and disappear.
It wasn't the first slushie that hit her. It wasn't the first insult directed at her. It wasn't the first hint of mockery or the first time she realized the bullying wouldn't just stop. It wasn't the first time she was thrown into a dumpster.
Dyke.
Loser.
Spaz.
Retard.
It was somewhere in between everything that happened then and the moment she got the news that her dad died. Somewhere in between everything else she had missed the sunset and was now faced with eternal darkness.
She knows it can't go on like this. And she's willing to try once more. She'll gather all her strength and she'll try to escape, but she can't do it alone. She's waited for too long and the shadows have consumed almost all her willpower.
So she finds herself standing in front of a classroom door, long after her last class and she's clenching her fists and sweating. She won't be demanding, she won't be annoying, she'll ask, just this one time before it's all over and there'll be nothing left but to give up.
Flipping through David's exam once more Shelby is uncertain what to do. If she lets him fail it'll have consequences for the poor boy, consequences she doesn't like to burden onto one of her kids. It's actually quite close; if she chooses to overlook this one mistake he'll pass. But that wouldn't be fair towards everyone else.
She wipes at her brows and breathes out slowly when there's a soft knock on the door. Shooting a quick glance at the clock she realizes she's actually supposed to pick up her sister's son from soccer practice in half an hour and she's nowhere near finished going through the exams. In her hurry she picks up the red marker again and writes "D" on top of the page before shouting "Come in!".
The door opens and Santana Lopez takes a step in but keeps the door handle in her hand.
"Could I speak with you for a second?" she asks and her eyes shift nervously. Shelby recognizes her immediately. She's one of the kids who always sit in the back row, never speak up but always do their homework. She actually likes Santana a lot, even though she doesn't quite understand why a gorgeous girl like her would be so shy and seem so insecure about herself.
She takes another look at the clock. Damn.
"I'm sorry, Santana. I'm really busy right now."
There's a brief flicker in the girl's eyes that Shelby recognizes as disappointment. She hates to disappoint her students, but right now her hands are tied. "These papers won't grade themselves." she mumbles more to herself than to the girl standing in the doorframe. On days like this she feels a hundred years old, if just for the wrinkles she can feel growing on her forehead. She lifts her hand and rubs her skin there lightly, massaging the offending marks away.
Shelby loves her job, but in situations like this she feels so worn out. Teaching means giving and sometimes there's not a lot left to give.
She's worried that her words might have come out a little too harsh, though, so she attempts to make an offer. Maybe she could talk to her after school tomorrow. Maybe she could call her if it's urgent. Maybe she could somehow make time. She's a teacher and there should always be time for a student who asks for help.
But when she looks up again she only sees the door being closed and hears a tiny, almost whispered
"Ok."