for you i'll strip my secrets bare (just promise me you'll still be there)

chapter three

RACHEL

The summer passed slowly. I spent time with the other Glee Club members, but Santana's absence was like an enormous, gaping void that mere talk about her couldn't hope to fill. My worries about her were shared, but no one could even begin to figure out where she might be. Attempts to speak to Santana's parents were fruitless, rebuffed with slammed doors and unanswered phones. Brittany continued to refuse to speak about what had caused her break-up with Santana, and by the time we were all preparing to leave for our respective institutions of higher learning, even Sue Sylvester admitted that she was in the dark as well. I was surprised by the hurt and concern in the coach's voice when I spoke with her, and slightly astonished when she made me promise to tell her immediately if I heard anything. The fervor with which she promised to do the same was as palpable as anything I'd ever heard from her, and I knew it was real and completely sincere.

The Glee farewell party, which was attended by our beloved mentor, Mr. Schuester, and his wife, the guidance counselor Ms. Pillsbury – both of whom had helped Santana in ways large and small throughout our tenure at McKinley – was a muted, somber event without our friend and former teammate there, and we all parted with a vow to share any information we might come across as we said our goodbyes. I had never seen Brittany look so sad, or heard her so quiet. She looked as lost and broken as the rest of us felt, and my heart broke to see it.

All too soon, my first semester at NYADA began without any new word on what had happened to Santana. I threw myself into my classes, trying to force thoughts of the missing Cheerio to the back of my mind. Yet every time I sang, I didn't see the instructor or the audience in front of me - no, it was Santana's beautiful face, glowing with laughter, her dark eyes crinkling in delight, that I saw, spurring each performance to heights of pure, raw emotion that I'd never come close to reaching before. Many a song was ended with tears flowing freely down my cheeks, and my classmates shaking their heads in awe. Normally, I would have basked in their praise, and that of my instructor, but knowing that it was Santana's disappearance that was the cause made me shy away from it. The unintentionally humorous upshot of that was hearing myself described as "humble" for the first time in my life, and I had no doubt that Santana would have laughed quite heartily at that.

I was trying to enjoy my new life at NYADA, I really was; but so many of the days felt gray and dreary, drained of the color and vibrancy the city had always held for me before. I made a few new friends – more acquaintances, really – but each connection felt somehow like a betrayal of the girl whose memory made my heart feel as though the life was slowly being squeezed from it. Instead of going out and exploring the city as I'd always dreamed of doing, I mostly stayed in my dorm room, brooding and crying, venturing out only for classes, meals, and practice time in the acting, voice and dance studios. My grades were excellent, my performances consistently superb, and my talent was being noticed by the insular school community, but I found it difficult to take much pleasure in any of it.

And then the letter came. There was no return address, but I knew who had sent it, even if I didn't know from where.

My breath hitched as I stared at the beautiful – elegant, even – handwriting on the envelope. My dorm building and room numbers were missing from the address, and there was no return address, but I knew those graceful, looping letters could only have been scribed by one person.

Santana.

I found myself whispering, almost chanting her name over and over again as I abandoned the rest of the mail in my mailbox, cradling the letter against my pounding heart while the elevator carried me up to my floor. My fingers trembled as they fished for the keys in the pocket of my jeans, shaking all the more when I slid the room key into the lock on my door.

Flipping the light on as I entered the room, I tossed my keys on the desk, then sat on my bed, reverently laying the letter down in front of me. Not for the first time, I silently thanked my lucky stars once again for the small size of my incoming freshman class, which had enabled me to get a dorm room without a roommate. The solitude was all that had enabled me to get through things at school so far; I imagined that a roommate would not have reacted well to the dark and gloomy mood I'd brought with me from Lima.

I stood and went over to my desk to retrieve the silver letter opener Kurt had given me as a farewell gift – he'd said I would need it frequently to deal with all the letters I would no doubt be receiving from everyone in Glee Club – and tried again to still the nerves causing my hand to tremble. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, willing myself to try and be strong for Santana's sake.

The sound of the paper envelope being cut open as I worked the shiny implement against it seemed incredibly loud in the silence of my room. I smiled at how fitting that was, given Santana's bold, brash personality – even her letters were loud.

Once again, the letter was written on lined notebook paper, neatly folded. When I carefully unfolded it, I saw that she'd used purple ink this time, which I found to be a curious, yet completely Santana-like choice. She had a way of surprising me with even the smallest of details. For a few moments, I just stared with unfocused eyes at the flowing script without really reading it, not quite able to believe it was real. Finally, I had to shake my head just to clear it. Then I began to concentrate on letting the letters take shape into words, to see what Santana had taken the time to share with me.

I swallowed thickly as my heart began to pound once again, nearly dizzy with nervous excitement. I lowered myself onto the bed and began to read:

Dear Rachel -

I'm writing to you – and you alone – because out of everyone in the Glee Club, it's you I care about the most. (Though I know it may not have always seemed that way.) The truth is that you were always the best of us. Not only as a singer, but as a person. You were always the kindest, most caring person in the club, the heart as well as the soul of it, and you showed it every time you made sure you were there for anyone who ever needed help. Whether it was Finn with his dancing, Sugar with her vocals (I still can't believe that girl can actually sing now!), Kurt with all the crap he went through, Marley with her lack of self-confidence or Kitty with her general bitchiness, you always found a way to make each of us better, no matter what our problem was. And in doing that, you helped me, too.

Because watching you do all of that, day in and day out, made me want to be a better person too. Now of course I'll never be a saint or anything – I'm way too bad-ass for that – but your example inspired me to become a kinder, gentler person, one who learned to care about others, and I'll always be grateful to you for it.

That being said, I haven't gone and joined the Peace Corps or some such hippie shit – but yeah, I did split from Lima right after graduation, and as you may or may not know by now, it wasn't to go to the University of Lameyville – oops, sorry, Louisville (not sorry). I left because it was going to be too hard to say goodbye to all of you, to watch you all go off into your new lives while I'm still trying to figure out what the hell to do with mine. Yeah, I know it wasn't cool, and I'm sorry to be such a fucking coward, but there it is. Can't change it now, even if I wanted to.

As for where I am and what I'm doing – well, let's just say I'm trying to "find myself." Which means I don't want you or anyone else to try and find me, OK? I'm all right. Seriously. I just need time to figure some things out, and I can't do that with you and Quinn and Puck trying to be all Scooby and the gang, jumping into the Mystery Machine to solve the case. If I ever need help – real, honest to goodness help – I'll reach out to you. Promise.

In the meantime, you need to just go and become the star we all know you're destined to be. Work hard. Sing, dance and act your tiny little ass off. Blow everyone else at that school away on a daily basis like you did all of us at McKinley. I know you can do it. I'll be there with you in spirit, always – no matter where I might be or what I might be doing.

Love, your favorite hot bitch -

Santana

I clutched the letter against my chest then, as though somehow the paper could keep it from breaking, and lay myself down to cry, long and hard, for my lost friend. My body shook with the release of all the fear and worry I'd been carrying around; the force of it left me gasping for breath, unable to see through the torrent of tears raining from my eyes, down my face, onto the hand that still held the treasured - now crumpled – page. Once I was able to draw air into my lungs again, and somehow found the strength to wipe my face and eyes clear, I was filled with renewed determination to find Santana, no matter what, or how long, it took. The research I'd done on the Internet had shown me in grim detail the many fates a young girl could suffer out on the streets alone, wherever she might be. There was simply no way I would abandon Santana to any of them. In that moment, I knew that I would do anything to save her. Anything.

"Hold on, Santana, please," I whispered, holding up the slightly mangled letter above my head, close to my face, as if it the ink and paper possessed the ability to hear me and then transmit my voice to her. "Just hold on. I promise I'll be there soon."