I don't think I remember the last decent dream I've had. My night terrors have started back up again - which completely threw me off the first time. I haven't had them since Russel was alive, but now all I can think about is that fire. I wake up in cold sweats, panting for air, my skin eerily warm as if the fire left a small gift for me. To remind me that this isn't one big dream.

Only once, when the flames felt too real to be false, I screamed. It was brief, but loud. I couldn't find Rhys in the dream, no matter where I looked - but I couldn't leave him. When I was searching through the burning house, I remember thinking 'Those damn matches… he keeps on finding the matches...' And then I could feel it. And smell it. All this time, I thought you weren't supposed to be able to feel pain in a dream.

Someone knocked on my door, two quick ones. This time, the person waited for a response. I rubbed my eyes a little, then mumbled, "Come in," expecting Rhys to be waiting behind the door. Instead, Santana stood with a confused expression.

"You okay?" She rasped, "I heard a yell."

"I'm fine," I snapped. I expected her to bite back, but she just nodded and yawned.

"Ok, well, good night-"

"Wait," I said softly. "Will you st… come with me to get some water?" I wanted to ask her to stay. I need someone right now, and I only seem to sleep peacefully when Rhys is here. There's no way I'm going to selfishly wake him up. "I just, I don't want to go alone."

"Sure," she said sleepily. She waited for me, then we both walked in silence to the kitchen.

"Thank you," I said to her while I poured some water from the pitcher into my glass.

"No problem." We sat quietly, both of us avoiding eye contact like the plague. "So," she started after a few seconds, "does it happen often?"

I shrugged, "Recently," I admitted.

"Is it about the fire?" She asked me. I nodded. "Will your father help you guys find a place?"

"He died," I mumbled.

"Sorry…"

"Don't be," I said firmly. "He had it coming."

"You shouldn't say that," she said wearily. I stared at her questioningly, but she provided no explanation. "We should go to bed," she said instead. I nodded slowly. Surprisingly, she walked me to my room instead of going straight to her's.

"Good night," I said to her. She pursed her lips like she wanted to say something more, but I watched her shoulders deflate as she gave up.

"Night."

Eating dinner together has become a routine. Rhys and I aren't used to this - usually momma eats by herself in her bedroom and the two of us eat at the table. This is so...unusual. It's almost scary, how natural it feels to sit around this dinner table with them. Maribel, Santana, and Leo.

"How was school, girls?" Maribel asks us. I smile at her and shrug.

"Nothing out of the ordinary, just planning for the school dance," I tell her. She eyes Santana with an arched eyebrow.

"You haven't told me about a dance." She says to her daughter. Surprise, surprise.

"You never asked," Santana mumbled back. There's another thing. Ever since I moved in, Santana has been different. I can still feel her looking at me during History, but she doesn't say anything. She doesn't even kick my chair. Is it odd that my day feels significantly different without her pestering me?

"Do you have a date?" Maribel asked, shifting the conversation back to me. I shook my head.

"Soon though," I told her. I've heard that Sam was planning on asking me out. I don't know if I'll say yes or not, but time will tell. I looked up from my plate, and saw brown eyes staring right back at me. Santana pursed her lips and lowered her gaze. I threw a glance towards my mother, and silently hoped that house hunting was going along smoothly.

Two weeks. It's been two weeks of living under the same roof with Santana Lopez. No one has found out, at least not to my knowledge. Now, it's Saturday morning and I'm sitting beside Rhys as we eat Pancakes that Maribel made for us before she and momma went grocery shopping.

Santana walked into the kitchen and pulled a glass down from the cabinet, then she pours herself a glass of tap water. She's only wearing a sports bra and black shorts. I've learned that she likes to get up before sunrise to go jogging. She halfheartedly offered for me to join her, but I denied it, of course.

"Morning, San," Rhys smiled. She wiggled her fingers at him before downing her glass.

"Momma says we're going to church tomorrow. Will you join us?" He asks her so innocently. She shook her head.

"Not really my thing, kiddo," she ran her fingers through his hair, which was getting longer every day.

"We always go out to eat afterwards! Plus, I asked Leo, and he says that he'll go," Rhys insisted. I don't doubt that. Leonardo was just like his sister- he didn't care about much. He was only ten, but very mature for his age. He could probably pass for a few years older.

"Where do you go out?" Santana smiled teasingly. I could tell she'd already made up her mind about it, but decided to humor Rhys. How cruel.

"Anywhere! It's different every time. Come on, please, Sanny?" He pleaded. Santana shrugged.

"Couldn't be that bad."

"What?" I asked, I could hardly keep my jaw from dropping.

"I said-"

"Yeah, I heard you," I waved her off.

"Well, good morning to you too, Princess," she rolled her eyes. When she moved from behind the counter, I eyed her. She was nicely sculpted. Her six pack managed to be feminine, her arms were skinny but not lanky. She looks like someone who worked out daily, but not excessively. "You know, your leering is pretty obvious," she commented.

"I wasn't," I lied. My ears feel warm.

"And your blushing isn't really helping your case," she pointed.

"Whatever," I rolled my eyes. "Think what you want."

"I will," she shrugged. She balled her fist and playfully nudged Rhys' chin with the click of her tongue. "Sleep well?" She asked me, knocking me off guard for a few seconds.

"Um, yes. Thank you," I said softly. She nodded, then left, leaving me to scrunch my eyebrows in confusion. Since when did Santana Lopez actually care?

Sitting next to Santana in Church felt like a sin. Her uncertainty radiated off of her, hitting me and all near enough to feel it- she was sweating like a sinner in Church. How ironic. I watched her from the side of my eye, studying the way she never kept her gaze on one spot. She looked at the Preacher for a few seconds, then the stain-glass windows.

Then me.

The Pastor- Pastor Davis- was telling us about skeletons in our closets. About how we had to let them go, we have to let God take care of them. He even had a plastic skeleton, he held it over his back as he spoke. Santana was still looking at me.

"When's this over?" She asked in a whisper. I shook my head- that was disrespectful. She inhaled through her nose, then out of her mouth. Then she turned her attention back to Pastor Davis.

She scoffed under her breath when he said that a God loving man would help guide his woman, that he would throw out all of her skeletons in the closet. She leaned closer to me. "Is he a bigot?" She asked.

Again, I shook my head, "Of course not." She shrugged, then went back to squirming in her seat. I noticed her chest was rising and falling quickly, but I couldn't bring myself to ask why. A few minutes later, she stood up and walked away, muttering an 'excuse me' to the people she passed in the aisle.

When it was over, about two hours later, Santana was still no where to be found. Mom told me to fetch her, to tell her that we were going to Denny's. I looked around the now empty Church, then walked up on the stage. It could almost look like a concert. My Church was huge- far bigger than your average neighborhood Christian Center. I roamed through the back, then walked through a dim hallway that had small confession stands. I heard Pastor Davis's voice, and stopped walking. Was I supposed to be here? I certainly shouldn't be listening- that's rude. I almost walked away. Almost.

"Father forgive me, I have sinned - that's what I'm supposed to say, right?" A voice that sounded a little too much like Santana's made my knees buckle. I couldn't leave if I wanted to. "I see that on Tv. People come in here, say all the shit - stuff, excuse me. They say the stuff that they did wrong, and then they are forgiven?"

"Almost," Pastor Davis replied. I couldn't see him, but I could picture him smiling that Colgate smile that he flashes everytime he gets to explain something holy. "This is you admitting and accepting what you've done wrong, and leaving our heavenly Father to take care of it."

"What are you, the messenger?" Santana chuckled dryly. Leave it to her to try to insult a Pastor, right to his face. Or, his voice I suppose. She can't see him.

"You could call me that."

"Alright. Well, messenger, what if I haven't accepted what I've done as a sin? Or what I'm doing."

I swallowed. Did she really go to confessions just to brag about how bad she is? How low.

"Care to explain?" Pastor asked curiously.

"For nearly all of my life, I was told that I was a sinner. By my father. Not like, Father God, by my Dad," Santana sighed. Her dad. I've never met him, nor have I seen a single picture. Is it really my place to find out why? "I told him...I told him that I loved girls the way I was supposed to love boys. He threw a fit."

"Understandable."

"For him to hit his daughter?" Santana bit. Silence. I held my breath until she started talking again. "He told me he'd fix me. That he'd set me up with a God fearing man, and I'd be normal. I went on so many dates trying to fix myself, but it never worked. He wasn't satisfied with me just pretending. No, my father, the Pastor, refused to be satisfied by me pretending to be in love with a boy. A stupid boy."

"Excuse me, but-"

"Why? Why did he do that to me? Why do I have to ask for forgiveness, why isn't he sitting here? I just want it to be how it used to be. I just want my dad back."

"And what is getting in the way of that?" Pastor asked. I rolled my eyes, as if her homosexuality wasn't obviously the answer.

"A girl, obviously. She lives with me now, and it's torture. Why can't I just be normal?" Her voice shook.

"There are many things in the Bible that are considered sins, young lady. I live by the book, but even I can admit that it's outdated. I'd be lying if I told you that I didn't eat pork for dinner last tuesday. But, if you truly believe this, I know what can help you."

Santana paused. I held my breath. "What would that be?" She asked finally. I heard a drawer open, then close. I took a step behind the wall when Pastor Davis's door started to open. He left a few papers on the floor in front of Santana's.

"Consider," he said, "calling the number on these pamphlets."

I waited for Santana in one of the back seats of the Church. When I saw Pastor Davis coming out from the back hall, I ducked down. He didn't see me. A few seconds later, I saw Santana. Her skin was pale, and she was stuffing papers into her pocket.

"Hey!" I called out. "Our moms want us to meet them at Denny's. We took too long."

"O-okay," she answered. I stood up and waited for her, then we walked out of the Church together. I didn't ask her why her eyes looked red. I already knew.

She drove here with Leonardo, but was leaving with me. I'm sure she didn't appreciate the trade off. Maybe she did - she said a girl who lived with her was blocking her from having her dad back. I didn't do anything, I don't even know her dad. Anyone who tells me that Santana Lopez has a thing for me is on Opium. She unlocked the passenger seat for me, then buckled her seat belt.

"Are you getting in, or are you walking?" She asked me. Normally, it would sound harsh. Venomous even. But not now, it just sounded weak. I nodded and ducked into her car. I didn't speak, I just got in. Then, the unexpected happened. "So.. how is planning for the dance going?" I had to double check to see if she was actually talking to me. It was civil, like a normal person would ask.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked hesitantly.

She shrugged. "Nothing."

"Well, it's fine. Thanks?"

"I didn't give you anything to thank me for."

I eyed her uneasily, but she kept her eyes trained on the road. "What's up with you?"

"I can't ask you a question?"

"I don't get why you're pretending to care, you don't even go to dances."

Again, she shrugged. That was getting on my last damn nerve.

"Maybe I'll go to the Winter Formal. Has anyone asked you yet?" She put her blinker on and stopped briefly at a stop sign. The clicking stayed in my head even after she turned it off.

"A few people have," I told her. She nodded.

"I figured."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I asked. She chuckled.

"It means, you're head Cheerio, so dozens of people are bound to ask you. Calm down."

"I'm calm," I lied. "Has anyone asked you?" She hummed in response, with a faint nod. "Are you going with one of them?"

"Probably not."

"Why?"

She glanced at me with a small smile. "Look at who has all the questions now."

We both got out of her car, but I noticed her toss a few things to the back. She tried to do it discreetly, so I acted like I didn't notice. "Hey," I said when we were a few steps away, "I think my phone slipped out."

"We'll go back-"

"No, just, um, I'll go back and you can go let our moms know we're here. You know, to stop their worrying," I bit my lip. Slowly, she nodded and reached into her purse to dig for her keys. She handed them to me. "I'll be in there in a second."

Without a word, she turned on her heel and walked inside. I waited until she was a safe distance away to check the backseat for those papers - and there they are. Three pamphlets, each of them similar to each other. One read 'Camp River Love', another was 'Blessings May Be,' and the third, 'Golden Child.' All three of them were for Ex-Gay therapy.

So many things have happened so far that I haven't expected to happen. For instance, my house burned to the ground. Then, I moved in with Santana's family. Then I went to Church with Santana's family. And now, I'm sitting in Denny's.

With Santana's family.

When I came in, the waiter was taking away their menus. Santana sat opposite of me, but kept her eyes trained on her menu. We both requested water. She changed her mind and asked for orange juice. Her mom eyed her warily when she told her, "I was in confessions." Santana rolled her eyes. "I was kidding," she scoffed. "I couldn't find the bathroom." She lied, but it seemed to soothe her mom's nerves. Something tells me that felt a little more normal for her.

"Quinnie, you couldn't have told where the restroom was?" Mom asked me.

"I, um, couldn't find her," I answered. At least it was almost honest. "I don't know what to get. Rhys, what did you pick?" He smiled brightly.

"I picked the Funny Face Pancakes! You should get them too!" He pushed his hair out of his eyes, and I giggled. He wore it in a ponytail now. It was just long enough, about three inches stuck out from the elastic. I made a mental note to pick up some headbands for him, he seems to be getting aggravated with the shorter lengths getting in his eyes. Heaven knows he won't allow anyone to cut it.

"I think I'll do that," I replied as I closed my menu. Santana looked up at me with an arched eyebrow.

"Quinnie, those are for children," mom chided. I refrained from rolling my eyes.

"Mom, I'm getting the Funny Face Pancakes."

"I think I'll get that too," Santana added and she sat her menu down. Her mom looked at her questioningly, but chose not to say anything. The waiter smiled brightly when we told him what we wanted.

When our food came, Rhys was the happiest kid on the planet. Leonardo looked pretty satisfied too, he put a mustache on his pancake first. It turned into a competition. The four of us were trying to see who could make the best pancake face using the whip cream, circle-chopped strawberries, and blue berries.

"Mine is named Jacques. He's from France, see, look at his mustache," Leonardo tilted up his plate enough for all of us to see. His looked professional. We decided that his was the best. Santana finished her pancake first, then took some from my plate.

"Hey!" I picked the last strawberry from her plate, and she gasped. "Serves you right."

She shook her head with a small, soft smile on her lips. She didn't look away from me for a few seconds, but when she did, her smile stayed. There is so much more to Santana than I thought - but I'm not sure if it's my place to find out. But those pamphlets in her car don't really leave me a choice.

a/n- The response to this makes me very happy, I'm glad that you guys are enjoying this story!

and can I just say that Stay With Me by HereandNow27 is magic and if you're not already reading it, you're missing out.

I just want to say that I do not mean to disrespect anyone's religion. This is something that I have experienced, and I hope that the way I write doesn't offend anyone, and if it does, I sincerely apologize. The Pastor is based off of the one that was in the church I used to go to, along with the church building itself (which was huge). When I say something I have experienced, I don't mean Santana's dad. I mean the whole religion mixing up with the way I feel when it comes to people I love.

Anyway! I'll try to update soon (: