Disclaimer: I only borrowed these characters from the Fox show Glee…I obviously do not own them…nor do I own the songs that are referenced in this story…therefore, no copyright infringement was intended. The rest of this story is mine so please do not use any part of it without my written permission. I've marked this for a mature audience, because it contains very serious subjects and strong language. I hope you enjoy what I've written. I would really appreciate your constructive feedback. Thanks! Kim

Her Smile Heals Me

By mamatots

Santana walked briskly down the south hallway of McKinley High and pushed open the exit door to escape into the cool night air. She took in a deep breath, pausing slightly to calm herself.

…Dancing Queen, young and sweet, only seventeen…

The persistent beat of the song she just finished performing still rang in her head. So cliché… the slim brunette thought to herself. Puke.She had pictured herself dancing to that song as the crowned prom queen when Mr. Shuester originally selected it…not singing it for Kurt and Blaine to shine. Junior prom totally sucks.

The dark-haired beauty let out an aggravated sigh and moved further toward the student parking lot with determined steps. She pulled off her wrist corsage of red roses from her left arm and tossed it to the ground. Fuck them. They can all go to hell.

Santana looked around the lot for a moment, lost in slight confusion. My keys…shit. She'd put them in her locker before the dance started. She let out another huge sigh. I can't win tonight. She laughed, the irony of her loss for the queen's crown not escaping her. Whatever. Brittany was right earlier…we could find that cheap-ass crown at any party store…I don't need their approval. That's right, she told herself as she pulled her strong shoulders back which stuck out her ample chest. Who cares what any of those Lima losers think anyway.

She looked up at the night Ohio sky. The stars seemed extra bright tonight without any clouds to block their visibility. I care, she admitted, her shoulders falling again.

She could hear the pounding of the music coming from the gymnasium. She heard Mercedes' voice loud and proud. She didn't seem fazed by Santana's sudden departure from the stage. Mercedes loved being a one-woman show when given the chance.

Santana leaned against the hood of her car, crossing her arms, as a giddy couple playfully walked hand-in-hand past her. They smiled respectfully at the former head cheerleader as she stood there in her crimson dress. The red complimented her dark complexion, highlighting the Latina beauty's natural glow. Varsity Cheerio or not, her mere presence demanded respect, and she had always gotten it from the other students.

See, they seem to like me, whoever they are. So…how did I lose tonight? Santana was still filled with defeat. Something Santana Lopez was not used to feeling. She was a top athlete, made top grades, had a fantastic, sultry singing voice, was the daughter of a well-known Lima doctor plus she was gorgeous and totally hot. She'd dated…ok, fucked…all the hot, and a few not-so-hot, guys at McKinley High. Those who hadn't fucked her, wanted to at least. I should have won with just the guy vote alone! God, why is this bothering me so much?

"I need a smoke," she said to no one. Fortunately, she knew just where to find Puck's hidden pack of cigarettes.

Even in three-inch heels, Santana moved across the parking lot and up the grassy hill with the grace of a black cat. She headed for the gate that accessed the football field. It was chain-locked when she reached it. She'd encountered that restriction before. She knew just where there was a weak spot in the fencing, a small section that had long ago pulled away from the post. Like any good trespasser, she took off her heels and tossed them over the fence then hiked up her dress with one hand as she lifted the metal with the other. Her trim body slipped under with ease. Almost. Santana heard a rip just as she pulled her second leg through. Fuck. Good job, Santana…how will I explain THAT to the dress shop when I try to return this overpriced rose garden on Monday?

Brittany looked around the gym as she danced, hoping to catch a glimpse of Santana. She looked so beautiful tonight, the tall blonde thought to herself. That thought made her smile. Any thought of Santana made her smile. Usually.

Tonight had been hard though; hard to know what to say to her best friend. Santana had been so upset at losing prom queen, and Brittany didn't see that side of Santana much. Never really. The dark-haired beauty would rarely allow it, not letting her vulnerable side show to anyone.

Santana's confidence was one of her greatest assets and…her biggest downfall, the blonde dancer admitted under her breath.

Santana had let that wall down briefly when Brittany followed her out of the gym after Kurt was announced as Prom Queen. They were all shocked at that announcement, Kurt included. He wasn't even on the ballot. The junior class only voted for him as a joke. Some joke, Brittany frowned.

The other students didn't get it, that was clear. They had reduced this magical night to a homophobic insult right out of some conservative commentator's editorial. Brittany got it though. In all her innocence, she'd understood that Kurt being gay was his reality and not some punch line.

Nobody should be made to feel ashamed for just being who they are, Brittany thought to herself…if only Santana would embrace that.

"Hey, Tina…have you seen Santana lately?" the blonde yelled over the thump of the music to the female partner of the Asian couple dancing next to her.

Tina looked around the gym in a circle, waving her arms to the rhythm of the beat. Never missing a dance step, Tina shook her head no. Her dancing partner, Mike Chang, gave a look around and shrugged.

Brittany moved through the crowd of dancing teens, hoping to find her best friend over by the punchbowl where she'd seen her most of the night with her date, Dave Karofsky.

The tall blonde unconsciously shivered at the memory of that vision. Geez, Santana…Puck, Sam…any other guy but Karofsky. That is just…gross.

Brittany had her doubts about her friend's "relationship" with the giant football player. What's her angle, she wondered to herself. There had to be some underlying goal, Brittany was sure of it. The match up was not only an unlikely one, it was just downright wrong.

Karofsky had been the biggest bully at McKinley up until a few weeks before prom. He had been so cruel to Kurt just for being outwardly gay that Kurt fled to a private school in a neighboring town. Suddenly, Dave is cool and holding himself out to be this protector of gay kids at McKinley? I don't buy it, Brittany rolled her eyes. But for whatever reason, Santana believed Karofsky and was now "in love" with him. So much so that she and Dave ran as prom king and queen together. Together...What the hell? The blue-eyed blonde adored her best friend, but her behavior recently made Brittany feel sick to her stomach.

She moved past Coach Sue Sylvester who was standing guard at the punchbowl and pushed open a side door of the gymnasium. Brittany hurried down the hallway into the girls' restroom, throwing the door open with a thud. She raced up to the sink just as a foul taste of bile soured the back of her throat. She swallowed hard. Why, Santana…why? Thoughts of the Latina beauty filled Brittany's head, causing her blue eyes to tear up.

She turned the handle for cold water and collected some in her palm, taking a sip then another. She swished it around in her dry mouth, letting it cleanse the bitterness then she leaned down to spit it out. She stood there a moment, her eyes stinging with the warmth of hurt and feelings so strong for Santana that they were overwhelming at times. She looked down at the running water and watched the clear liquid rush out of the faucet and down the drain unable to hold her tears back. An audible sob escaped. All the emotions she'd reined in earlier in the night in an impressive effort to be supportive to Santana…and to Kurt…finally broke through. The tall blonde was unable at this moment to hold onto the intense emotions that plagued her for months now.

"I thought I was the only blonde crying in the bathroom tonight," a low voice said from behind. Brittany jerked around, seeing nobody. She quickly turned off the faucet, leaving the restroom quiet.

"I'm sorry?" she said, not really sure why.

"This evening has not really played out as I envisioned."

Brittany leaned just far enough to see the bottom of a bright blue skirt and pale, slim legs crossed beneath it. The door to the end stall was open. Sitting on its toilet was Quinn Fabray.

"Quinn, do you need me to hold the door for you?" Brittany asked cautiously.

"Why?" Quinn replied deadpanned.

"Is the lock broken?"

"No…" she paused dramatically, "this toilet is my throne tonight." Her elbows were propped on her crossed knees, her perfect chin resting regally in her palms. Her gorgeous face was devoid of expression. She looked as deflated as she did beautiful, even sitting on a generic, germ-covered high school toilet.

"I'm confused," Brittany confessed.

Quinn stood and walked toward the sinks, flattening her wrinkled skirt as she moved. She observed herself in one of the mirrors, turning one side then the other to assure she'd maintained her cover-girl appearance. She glanced sideways to the taller blonde, "This school is full of judgmental posers."

That statement made Brittany snicker. Quinn should talk.

"Don't laugh." Quinn sighed.

"Sorry."

"I should have been crowned prom queen tonight," Quinn said matter-of-factly, "It was my destiny."

Brittany laughed hard enough she snorted this time. "Sorry."

Quinn drew in a deep breath, held it for a second then slowly blew it out. She was used to dealing with Brittany. Quinn had been the taller blonde's head cheerleader on the Cheerios squad for two years now. Well, except for the few months Quinn had been pregnant last year. Yeah, sophomore year didn't really turn out as I'd envisioned either,she privately admitted.

Quinn had struggled to regain her perfect image at McKinley. Until tonight, she'd started to believe she had. She was dating Finn again after many mishaps, she felt good, she felt strong again. Where had her campaign for Queen gone wrong? Finn was the perfect boyfriend. He was tall, good-looking, athletic, sensitive…ok, a push-over…but in a sweet way. He wasn't the brightest guy she could date, she knew that, but he was a born leader and he had a kind of quiet wisdom about him. She admired that quality. The biggest obstacle to maintaining perfection…and Finn, Quinn brooded, was…Rachel Berry. Glee club's shining star. Quinn's alter-ego. She huffed at the thought of the obnoxious little nymph. Though, as irritating as Rachel was, she was loyal. She'd even followed Quinn into her restroom retreat after Principal Figgins announced Kurt as Queen. Rachel was very supportive, apologetically helpful even, drying Quinn's baffled tears.

"You look beautiful tonight, Quinn." Brittany broke the silence.

Quinn smiled at her friend's undeniable warmth. "Thanks."

Both girls shifted their stance, turning to look at themselves. "I like your, um…little hat there," Quinn offered, referring to the tiny top hat askew on Brittany's head. "It's…totally you."

Brittany grinned. "Thanks."

"I guess Santana is pissed?" Quinn was all too familiar with the fiery brunette as well.

"She was pretty upset, yeah."

"She's seemed different lately. No?"

The taller blonde shifted awkwardly, looking down at the sink. "Yeah."

"I guess we've all had adjusting to do since the three of us quit the Cheerios for Glee."

"I guess."

Quinn was self-absorbed, but she was perceptive. "Are you ok, Britt?"

"Hmm? Yeah…I'm just worried about Santana, I guess."

Quinn stared at her, trying to read her body language. "You two are very close. I've always been a little jealous of that."

"What? Why?" Brittany asked softly, not knowing really how to respond or knowing exactly where Quinn was going with that statement.

Quinn shrugged. "Nothing," she paused, "Santana is very lucky to have you, Brittany. For support…and everything." The second part seemed emphasized with purpose.

"Well…I don't know really how supportive I am right now. I can't seem to find her."

"She'll turn up…," Quinn paused, putting her right hand on the tall girl's shoulder and squeezing it softly, "…and when she does come out of hiding, Brittany…I hope you know that everyone in Glee Club will be supportive too." The blonde beauty turned to leave. "Make sure you tell her that," she said over her shoulder as the door of the restroom closed behind her.

Kurt Elizabeth Hummel spun and clasped his hands with joy as balloons dropped from the ceiling of the gymnasium at McKinley High, signaling the final moments of his junior prom. He looked across to the stage where a dark, voluptuous enchantress in a purple gown serenaded the crowd of giddy teens. As Mercedes finished her last belted note, Kurt caught her glance and winked, giving her an enthusiastic thumbs-up and a wave. She winked back, enjoying the last of her limelight.

In Glee rehearsal on Monday, she was sure to be second fiddle again to Rachel Berry. Then again, she thought…who am I kidding? Sometimes I'm third or fourth fiddle these days, she balked. Not tonight though, she'd closed the prom…by herself.

A huge grin broke across her full face. She was most beautiful when she smiled, Kurt acknowledged inwardly with a loving sigh. Mercedes had always been so supportive to him. She was the first person he'd come out to, he remembered. She never missed a beat, making him feel almost normal for once in his short life. Almost. He was eternally grateful to her for that. The hardest part of transferring to Dalton Academy was leaving his day-to-day friendship with his lovely Mercedes. The best part of transferring to Dalton though was meeting Blaine.

Kurt looked to his left, finding his handsome, dark-haired dancing partner still enjoying himself. Kurt was in awe at times that his path had crossed Blaine's, leading him to his first true love.

"Having a good time, Blaine?"

"Yeah! You?" Blaine continued moving to the beat of the school orchestra's final selections.

"The evening has vastly improved."

Kurt's thoughts rushed back to the harshness of the spotlight shining on him in this very spot earlier in the night as Principal Figgins called his name as Junior Prom Queen. The joke was not funny. He'd only been back at McKinley for a few weeks, transferring only after a private plea by David Karofsky.

Kurt was still dumbfounded at the turn of events. Karofsky had single-handedly robbed Kurt of his dignity and sense of safety, forcing him to make the hard choice to transfer. Dave's threats had scared Kurt so much that he still didn't trust anyone at McKinley. Well, anyone outside of Glee Club.

His fellow Glee members were his only motivation to take such a leap of faith in coming back to this school. Though, Kurt did feel extreme pity for Dave. Kurt was one of the few people in Dave's life who had come to know the secret he continued to hide from the rest of McKinley, from the rest of the world. David Karofsky was gay too. His inward pain was evident in his blue eyes every time Kurt saw him. Kurt knew exactly how that pain felt. Until…he met Blaine.

Kurt took the hand of his savior and pulled Blaine close. The two started swaying in rhythm to what was probably the night's closing slow dance. "I love you, Blaine Warbler," Kurt whispered in his ear, "Thank you for helping me stay strong tonight."

Blaine pulled him even closer, his arm wrapped tightly around Kurt's neck, making sure not to bump the golden crown atop his love's head. Blaine kissed Kurt softly on the lips then leaned in and whispered, "You're the handsomest Queen I've ever danced with."

Kurt smiled, inside and out.

Santana pulled herself up off the grass, grabbing her heels with one hand and her skirt with the other. The underside of the football bleachers was very dark, still she knew her way around. She made her way down the paved path to a small wooden concessions booth set toward the middle of the bleachers. She rubbed her hand along the backside of the booth, near a cement leveling block. Success, she congratulated herself with a broad smile as she pulled out a crumpled box of Marlboros. The teen flipped open the top to find three left. Thank you, Puck. She pulled out the only one not bent then flicked the lighter a couple of times. Nothing. She flicked it again several times. Nothing. Fuck, Puck!

"You have to hold down the plastic edge as you flick it." A deep voice from the darkness instructed.

"I got this…thanks though." Santana was insulted. She knew how to light a fucking cigarette. She was so irritated at this point that it didn't even occur to her to worry that someone else was hanging out inside the dark stadium.

The shadowy figure moved toward her, finally causing her senses to heighten. She turned toward the movement, Marlboro still hanging from her full, red lips. For a moment, she drew in a shaky breath.

She heard the masculine figure take a swig from a bottle, his mouth popping not-so-classy off the glass as the liquid settled back to the bottom. As he moved in closer, she recognized the stench of Johnnie Walker scotch. Puck's favorite, she thought.

"No, you don't got this, do you?" That voice was not Puck's. A large hand appeared inches from Santana's face, holding a single match which its owner lit with one smooth stroke from his fingernail.

As the flame burned brightly, Santana leaned in to light her cigarette, taking a long drag and holding it before slowly letting it out. She could feel some of her tension blowing away with the smoke as she looked toward the lit figure just as he blew out the match. David Karofsky.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Karofsky?" Santana had no patience for him at this point, "I thought you ran home to your mommy instead of man-ing up and dancing with Kurt."

"Why don't you shut the hell up." He took another long swig, "You're one to talk, Lopez." His sarcasm was clear, having knowledge of the Latina's private struggles.

"Does Puck know you sneak in to drink his liquor?" She asked with disdain.

"Does he know you snake his smokes?"

"Whatever." Santana blew out another long puff, staring coldly across the path at her prom court running mate. After a moment of intense silence, she announced, "You know, Dave…you are the worst date EVER."

"Why? Because I'm not Brittany…or because you're still clothed and upright?"

"Fuck you."

"You wish…," he slurred back.

"No, I don't wish. You know why…? Because you're GAY, Dave. G-A-Y, Gay."

Santana could feel Karofsky's rage leap across the path before she even got the words completely out of her mouth, and as if in slow motion, that sensation was followed as quickly with the brute force of a 250 pound linebacker barreling toward her like a freight train. Without any second to think about the consequences of her smart-ass remarks, Santana was being shoved against the back of the wooden booth so hard it knocked the breath out of her slender frame.

Dave pushed her with such force that the cigarette fell from Santana's left hand, landing on her bare foot. She flinched in response to the intense burning, tears welling up in her eyes. Holy fuck, she thought. She wanted to scream for him to calm the fuck down, but she couldn't vocalize any sound because of Karofsky's forearm pressing tightly against her throat in what had to be one of his best blocking moves on the football field.

"You shut the fuck up. You shut the fuck up, you hear me! You fucking, bitch!" His words flew at her through clenched teeth.

Santana now understood the fear Kurt had described to the Glee Club members. She remembered seeing uncontrollable fear in his eyes after more than one encounter with this same hulk who had her pinned against a wall right now. She couldn't say anything in response. Sweet Jesus, she thought, her mind racing.

She could barely even breathe his grip was so tight. Santana tried to shift her weight underneath him so she could knee him right in the nuts, a move she'd used to her advantage in the past, but she stepped on the hem of her prom gown, losing her balance under Karofsky's weight and sliding down the wall of the booth. They both fell to the ground with a thud.

Santana instinctively used the moment to draw in a deep breath of much-needed air before twisting as best she could to try and wriggle out from under this enormous beast. Dave was drunk, but he was spry enough to grab her just as she pushed away, sending her back down to the pavement with a hard thud and pinning her down with his upper body.

"Stop!" she cried out.

"Oh you're not so bad-ass now, are you, bitch?"

"Dave, stop it! Right now! Let go of me, goddammit…," she screamed, punching and clawing at him in the face with her unrestrained arm, "HELP ME!"

"I am NOT gay! You hear me? It's ALL LIES!" He breathed his tainted, hot breath right in Santana's face, his words dripping with self-hate, "I'm not some fucking fairy like Kurt – or YOU - do you hear me?"

That declaration called for more self-control than Santana had ever been able to muster. She came in this world as a bad-ass, and she had always been willing to leave it as one.

"YES…YOU…ARE…YOU GAY MOTHERFUCKER!" She screamed right back in Karofsky's face.

His response caught Santana off-guard, even more than the absurdity of David being announced Prom King earlier in the night only to have Kurt Hummel crowned as his Queen. A flash of memory filled Santana's thoughts for an instant of David stomping off the dance floor rather than share a celebratory dance with Kurt. Her thoughts shattered apart as quickly as they came when Karofsky kissed her forcefully, his booze-soaked tongue violating her mouth. He held her tiny frame down with the full weight of his oversized body, continuing to kiss her deeply, tugging painfully at her long dark locks to keep her head still.

Karofsky broke his grasp on her head, and yelled, "Say it now, you cheap whore!"

"Say what, Dave?" she cried, tears streaming down her once perfectly-adorned face. Santana had never had so much go so wrong so fast.

"Say I'm gay now," he oozed the words over her face as a challenge.

"You ARE gay, Dave. But…you'll be ok," she tried soothing him through her tears, "we'll both be ok…just stop now, please." When he didn't stop, kissing her hard again, Santana screamed out, "oh god, please, Dave, stop…SOMEBODY HELP ME!"

The darkness around her exploded into a white flash of light as he struck her across the top of her head. "SHUT UP!" he screamed in her face, forcibly lifting her dress and yanking down her underwear. "I'll show you I'm not gay, you whore!" he declared, parting her slim legs with his body.

Santana slowly stopped fighting against the weight of Karofsky's frame on top of her, the stamina leaving her weakened body. "Stop, Dave…I'm begging you…please stop," her voice trailing off, sobbing under the pain of the reality of what he was doing.

The side doors to the McKinley High gymnasium were wide open, the bright lights from inside illuminating the night sky. Droves of sweaty, rowdy teenagers poured into the parking lot, heading to their cars.

"Oh my god, that was so much fun," Mercedes yelled as she welcomed the cool breeze of the Ohio spring night. "I think I lost ten pounds on that dance floor tonight!"

"You held up well, Mercedes. You still look just as lovely," Sam told her with a smile. She put an appreciative arm around her date's waist as she caught up to him on the sidewalk.

"That was rockin'! Friday, Friday, gotta get down on Friday…" Puck sang as he played air-guitar.

His date, Lauren, looked him up and down through her thick glasses, "Seriously, dude?"

Puck stuck out his long tongue and shook his head up and down as he continued his air-serenade, knowing it secretly turned Lauren on. He smiled inwardly.

"Hey guys, wait up…" Brittany yelled. "I still can't find Santana, but her keys and phone were still in her locker."

"You remembered her locker combo, Britt?" Kurt asked.

"Yeah. So?" the tall blonde dismissed.

"You've asked the office secretary 20 times or so for your own combo…?" Kurt looked at her confused.

Brittany looked at him blankly and shrugged.

"Britt…" Brittany heard a very hoarse but familiar voice from behind her. She turned around to see an extremely disheveled brunette stumbling down the hill toward her. She met her stride just as Santana fell into her arms.

"Santana, I've looked everywhere for you!" Her arrival was noticed by the gathered group of Glee members.

"I'd say you didn't look in the right places, Brittany," Puck sarcastically observed, "like under the bleachers."

"Where's your other shoe?" the blonde asked her, noticing Santana had only one red pump in her hands.

"Santana? Are you drunk?" Mercedes asked, rolling her eyes as she looked over to the others standing near her.

Santana leaned into Brittany's embrace and whispered, "Britt, would you please help me home?"

"Yeah, sure…" the tall blonde responded, "I already have your keys."

"Good lord, Santana…really?" Quinn approached the group. "Can I get a ride home with somebody? I think I've officially been abandoned by Finn."

"Ouch, Quinn." Tina hugged Mike Chang, appreciating that he was super-reliable and would never leave her somewhere without a ride home.

"Well, he did get kicked out of the dance by Coach Sylvester. Did you expect him to just wait outside this whole time?" Kurt questioned. Kurt was Finn's step-brother, so he felt a natural instinct to come to his defense.

"I expected him to be a gentleman, yes," Quinn retorted, "by first, not starting a fight with Jesse over Rachel, second, by not causing me to lose the crown to YOU, and third, yes, waiting outside to take me home."

"I don't think it's too much to ask, Quinn" Tina added. Quinn returned an appreciative smile.

"Can we go? Now?" Santana urged.

"Geez, keep your panties on, Lopez," Puck snickered. Puck and Santana had dated and broken up and dated again far too many times for him to have much tolerance for the fierce brunette.

"I feel sick…" Santana starting moving toward the corner of the building, barely reaching it before she threw up…twice. Brittany was right behind her, pulling her friend's hair back as she had dozens of times before.

"Let's go, ok?" the tall blonde said gently, rubbing Santana's back softly. "Quinn, you coming?" she asked as she ushered her weakened confidant past the small group of friends.

"Be sure to crack a window!" Lauren hollered after the former-Cheerios. "I would not want to be in that car tonight," she sarcastically mumbled to the remaining group who nodded in agreement.

By the time the three girls reached Santana's white Mustang, Brittany and Quinn were practically carrying the brunette. Brittany paused a moment and shifted the Latina's weight to lean more into her as she handed Quinn the keys, "Q, will you drive?"

"Yeah…no problem." The two blondes were familiar with their co-Cheerio's wilder nature, but Quinn observed a Santana at this moment she'd never seen before. Something about the brunette's appearance and behavior was out of control, bordering on savage even, and relinquishing control was not something Santana allowed.

Brittany opened the passenger side door and pulled the seat forward, gently guiding her best friend into the backseat. Santana collapsed the rest of the distance into the black leather of the rear, feeling the final amount of strength leave her slender legs. Brittany instinctively pushed into the backseat behind her, tenderly sliding Santana over to the other side of the car. The tall blonde reached over her, pulling and locking Santana's seat belt then her own. Always buckle up, Brittany intuitively heard her father's cheerful voice remind her.

Quinn cranked the car's engine, and the girls were startled with the blasting sound of the stereo. She reached as fast as her tired arm would move to shut it off before buckling her own seat belt and adjusting the rear-view mirror which Santana had left in a down-angled position, undoubtedly applying one last coat of devil-red lipstick to her plump lips upon arrival earlier in the evening.

Quinn put the Mustang in reverse and did one last check over each shoulder then slowly pulled the car out of its parking space. She merged cautiously into the line of cars heading out of the student lot, trying to get a feel for the handling of Santana's new car. Dr. and Mrs. Lopez had surprised the young beauty only a few months ago with the Mustang for Santana's 17th birthday.

Quinn was still secretly shocked at the gift, since the girls had been in three separate fender-benders in Mrs. Lopez's Lexus with Santana at the wheel. Her lead foot was infamous. The whole Glee Club panicked if Santana was the volunteered driver on outings which only amused the brunette who insisted that was why the "oh, shit!" bar was installed in cars.

As the girls waited inside the car for their turn at pulling out onto the main street, Santana shifted toward Brittany, laying her pounding head on the tall blonde's prominent shoulder. Brittany took in the sensation of the welcomed contact then leaned her head to rest on the top of Santana's. The extra weight struck the brunette in a particularly tender spot, causing her to let out an audible gasp.

"Are you ok, Santana?" Brittany asked in immediate concern.

Santana nodded slightly, lying to her dear friend, her hoarse voice breaking through the dryness of her mouth, "…yeah…I…um…just have a…bad headache." She stumbled over just those few words, each one taking effort she couldn't find.

Brittany could hear the dryness in her voice, and asked Quinn, "Would you hand me that bottle of water from the cup holder?" Quinn unlatched her tight grip from the steering wheel just long enough to reach for the bottle and hand it over her shoulder to the taller blonde.

Brittany uncapped the water and tilted it toward Santana's mouth, "Here sweetie, take a sip." Santana obediently swallowed the lukewarm liquid, appreciating the relief it brought as it soothed her throat. Her mind jumped back to her unheard screams as she fought against the assaults by the guy who began the night as her prom date. McKinley High's Junior Prom King 2011. The thought made Santana subconsciously quiver as fresh, hot tears left her dark brown eyes.

Brittany felt something wet pool on her left shoulder before streaming down her arm. Is Santana crying?

"Santana?" she whispered, not wanting to call attention to the brunette's vulnerable moment. Santana didn't answer, silently willing the blonde not to pursue questions. Brittany knew Santana better than she knew herself at times and did not ask again.

Quinn originally anticipated driving first to her house so she could get some sleep and forget this horrible night, but something unsaid pushed her to drive past her subdivision and turn onto Hampton Road that led into Brittany's neighborhood. She eased the Mustang down an adjacent street, making a right then a quick left into the Pierce driveway. She shut off the engine and pulled out the ignition key, turning around to find her passengers asleep.

"Hey, girls…" she put a soft hand on Brittany's long outstretched leg, rousing the taller blonde, "we're here."

"Here?" Brittany asked confused, consciousness slowly returning.

"Your house. Come on." Quinn opened her driver's door and leaned the seat forward after she slid out. She reached into the back, unbuckling Santana's belt. The sound of the metal popping the interior molding as it automatically returned itself woke the brunette with a jolt.

"Stop, please!" she screamed, alarming Brittany and Quinn.

Brittany grabbed her from behind to comfort her, "Santana…." The brunette was taken off guard with the sudden motion and threw her elbow back in a quick, defensive move, hitting Brittany in the face. The tall blonde saw streaks of white light instantly, her hands moving up to clasp her prominent nose.

"Brittany, you ok?" Quinn gasped.

"My nose is bleeding."

Santana's haze slowly lifted as she tried to adjust her senses, bringing her racing thoughts back to the reality of the car.

"Lean your head back," she heard Quinn instruct. What? What's happening? The night was just one blur after another to the damaged teen.

"San-tan-a…" the smaller blonde repeated slowly with emphasis. Santana's eyes resetting themselves to the dark interior, she turned to her right to see her best friend holding her nose, her face raised upward.

"What's going on?"

"You smacked Britt in the face."

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry…" her voice still struggling to find volume.

"I'm ok," Brittany reassured through a pinched nasal passage.

"Let's get inside before someone calls the cops," Quinn suggested firmly.

Cops? Where were they earlier, Santana lamented.

She accepted the hand offered her as she slid from the backseat, stepping out onto the pavement of the driveway. Her knees instantly buckled, but she caught herself on the car door, banging her funny bone on its metal. Fuck…so not funny, she internally hissed.

The taller blonde slid out on the passenger side and eased the car door shut, trying to avoid any further commotion in the late night. She moved toward the front door in an awkward position, trying to keep her head back while simultaneously fishing her house key out of her small handbag. She could feel and taste the thick, hot fluid still trickling down the back of her throat. She finally fit the key in its small hole and turned it to open the heavy wooden door just as Quinn stepped up on the front porch with her arm supporting a still clearly shaky Santana.

The girls moved inside the Pierce house, Brittany flipping on a table lamp and Quinn easing Santana down onto the couch. Quinn had been inside the Pierce home so many times, she went straight to the kitchen and opened the freezer, removing a small bag of frozen peas and returning to the living room.

"Here…" she said, slightly tossing the bag to the oldest Pierce child, "put that on your face. It'll help with any bruising."

Lauren and Puck waved goodbye to Kurt as he lowered himself inside Blaine's car to leave the school. Lauren was a large girl, but even she was beginning to suffer the chill of the Ohio night air. She shivered slightly as she turned to Puck who was sitting on a bricked half-wall that read "William McKinley High School".

"So…that was fun," she admitted.

"Even though we lost?" he smirked, knowing he personally couldn't care less about being junior prom king and queen.

"Yeah…" she smiled back, "Guess it just wasn't our year. Maybe next time."

Puck winked at his robust date, hopeful that there would be a next time and noting again to himself how beautiful she looked in her navy prom gown. As thoughts of what unchartered curves could be found under all that navy, he felt his left earlobe being painfully yanked, forcing him backwards over the half-wall then into an upright position.

"Listen up, you titillating libertine with your oddly-shapen hair…" a familiar voice growled into his throbbing ear. "I know you were the rebel with a cause behind the poorly-devised, laughably-executed attempt at spiking my annual Sylvester-family prom punch."

Puck stroked the top of his Mohawk, reexamining his current level of bad-assness, as Sue Sylvester, coach of the Cheerios squad and the night's designated prom advisor, continued to hurl insults inches from his stubbled face. His eyes cut to Lauren, making eye contact with his lovely lady who nodded in quiet approval, causing the corners of his mouth to turn upward in his typical bad-boy grin.

"…you do shoddy work, Mister…you despicable yet disturbingly-erotic degenerate…" Coach Sylvester trailed off when she realized her captive audience was more interested in each other than the threat she was making. "Puckerman!"

Puck startled at the sheer volume Coach Sylvester's grating voice could abruptly achieve.

Coach Sylvester shoved a glass bottle into his chest, "You can return this confiscated item to your mole on wheels and remind him that the next time I catch him anywhere near my punchbowl or any other buffet table and or snack booth at this school, I personally will load him and his wheelchair in my large-capacity, State-of-Ohio-issued Cheerios van and drive him to the edge of Lake Lima…and push him in!"

Puck swallowed hard at the thought of poor Artie at the mercy of this bitter lunatic. Coach Sylvester could smell his rising fear and knew she finally had Noah Puckerman, McKinley High's resident punk, right where she wanted him. Puck may not give a rat's ass about his own student record at this school, but he did look out for wheelchair-bound Artie Abrams. She leaned in for emphasis and slowly whispered in a low guttural tone, "…and I will laugh as he sinks."

With that revelation, Sue Sylvester turned with all the dramatic flair of an evil super-villain from fictional Gotham City and vanished up the grassy hill.

Puck, lost in thoughts of Artie sinking to the bottom of Lake Lima, unscrewed the top off the glass bottle and tipped it to take a swig of the clear liquid that had been intended for the prom punch earlier in the evening. "Ugh…what the hell?" he grimaced at the taste.

Lauren grabbed the bottle, taking an equally sizable swallow, "Lemonade?" Puck shrugged.

"Artie tried to spike the punch with…Lemonade?"

"It was supposed to be Gin."

They both laughed and turned to walk toward one of the two remaining vehicles in the student lot. They saw a disheveled David Karofsky fumbling with his keys at the door of the other car.

"Congratulations, Karofsky!" Puck's sarcasm toward his fellow Prom King candidate was intended.

"You've finally been crowned King of McKinley," Lauren exclaimed. "Now you can head off to Disney World to celebrate with the other princesses," she added, knowing nothing of the hidden truth behind the jab.

David was starting to sober after his binge of Johnnie Walker he had earlier, but his rage had not dissipated yet. "What the fuck did you say to me, tubbo?"

Puck threw up a quick forearm to block his date's physical response, "Whoa...he's not worth it, Lauren."

Lauren thought it was pretty rich of this over-sized oaf to use that insult in reply, but she'd heard all the fat jokes in the book. Many times, from many people. The array of insults always appeared smugly-satisfying to the name caller until the state-champion, wrestling-titleholder cracked a nut or two. She smiled at Puck who was watching her for a reaction. David Karofsky wasn't even worth wrinkling her navy dress tonight.

"Have a good night, King Karofsky." Lauren gave him a shit-eating grin then grabbed her bad-ass date by the hand, "Come on, Puck…let's go to my house." Puck smiled at the endless possibilities.

David shook his head as the black truck pulled away, leaving him alone at the door of his car, fists still clenched. He tried again with pushing the key into the lock, mentally willing his hands to stop shaking. He got the key in on the fourth attempt, throwing open the driver's door and falling into the seat, slamming the car's door shut behind him.

He paused a moment. Was any of this even real? Where had this night gone so out of control? He looked down at the bent "golden" crown in his bloodied hands, noticing one of the fake gems had fallen off. Fuck! This whole night was stupid…and fake. He started the ignition and buzzed down his driver's window to let some of the suffocating air escape.

He looked up at himself in the rear-view mirror, ashamed of the person looking back at him. This is all so fucking fake… just like me. He threw the crown hard against the passenger window, but its hollow weight only bounced off the glass and flew back, whacking him in the head. He pounded the steering wheel with all his reserved strength. He examined the dried blood on his over-sized hands.

Fuck you, Santana! His world was just fine, in his opinion, until she forced her way into it. He pounded the wheel over and over. Fuck you, Fuck you, Fuck you. He threw the car in drive and floored it out of the parking lot.

"FUCK YOU, MCKINLEY!" he screamed out the open window.

Quinn sat curled in a comfy floral chair in the corner of Brittany's bedroom, dozing under the warmth of the blanket covering her muscular frame. She'd taken off her blue prom dress with its sparkly, beaded bodice and neatly laid it over the back of the desk chair, replacing the elegant attire with a pair of Brittany's red athletic shorts and a white t-shirt that read Mid-Western Regional 2009 Cheer Team Champions.

Quinn had one just like it in her drawer at home. Quinn still ached with how much she missed being head Cheerio. She loved everything about the position and even thrived on Coach Sylvester's daily tirades and insults. The absurdity of the coach's statements is what drove Quinn to achieve.

She knew she was better than what that woman reduced them to each day…hell, we're better than what her opinion of all of us is, she thought proudly. Quinn had been Coach's young protégée and her secret weapon, both at school and in competitions. That is, until Puck got Quinn pregnant last year. Quinn knew her situation was nothing but a show of personal weakness to the Cheerios' Coach. And Sue Sylvester never let her live it down.

The bathroom door opened, streaming artificial light into the darkened bedroom. Quinn stirred out of her exhausted haze, looking up as Brittany walked toward her and sat cross-legged on the chair's ottoman. The green-eyed beauty looked over at the digital clock on Brittany's nightstand. 1:03AM. Quinn could hear water running in the bathroom.

"How is Santana?" Quinn yawned and stretched her arms.

"She's going to take a shower." Brittany had changed out of her lime green dress into gray sweat pants and a soft blue thermal, her long blonde hair now pulled back into a practical pony-tail and her make-up cleaned from her face, exposing her freckles.

"Did you ever hear from Finn?" she inquired.

"He left me a voice message earlier."

"…and?" She waited for his explanation of events.

"I deleted it." Quinn said matter-of-factly.

Quinn watched Brittany as she played absent-mindedly with one of her cuticles, seemingly unaware that her body language gave away her mounting concern for their dark-haired friend.

A few moments of silence past between the girls. "Q, did you notice anything…weird…about Santana? After the dance, I mean?"

"You mean other than the fact that she's fall-down drunk…on school grounds?" Quinn was always conscious of appearances.

"I don't think she is though."

Quinn looked across at her friend. "Britt, you can smell the alcohol…and cigarette smoke…all over her."

"She's not drunk though. I talked to her…I know how she is when she's been drinking."

True, Brittany would know, Quinn thought. "Okay…?"

"Her dress is ripped in several places."

"It happens."

"Well, but…she told me when she brought that dress home she was going to return it right after the dance…before her mom would see the charge," Brittany recalled, trying to reason through her doubts. "And, I know she was being extra careful all night. She wouldn't even come out to the center of the dance floor with me cause she worried someone would step on it."

Quinn shrugged, lost for comment.

The door of the bathroom cracked open a little wider, and the girls turned to see Santana peeking around the door uncharacteristically modest.

"Britt, do you have any aspirin?" The brunette's voice barely carried across the room.

"Yeah, it's in the medicine cabinet, second shelf."

"I looked in there and didn't see any."

Brittany hopped up from her seat to double check, reminding herself she'd meant to take a couple of aspirin too to ease the dull throbbing in her face. She pushed on the bathroom door as she reached it, meeting immediate resistance from the other side.

"Tan, let me in so I can check."

"No."

"Santana?" the tall blonde laughed at her best friend's sudden act of modesty. She'd known Santana her whole life, been in athletics and dance with her, she'd seen everything the young Latina had to offer…and then some, Brittany thought with a smile.

"You can't see me."

"Sure I can…you're standing right there, silly."

Quinn was curious too at this unusual side of Santana. "I think I have some in my purse, Britt."

"Oh, but I left it down in the living room," the smaller blonde stood up and approached the bathroom, "…do you need me to go downstairs and grab it?"

"Nevermind." Santana's whole demeanor was filled with defeat.

The light inside the bathroom was bright, and from Quinn's angle she could see the side of her dark-haired friend. She was unclothed, trying to maintain her privacy behind the white wooden door, but Quinn finally saw what it was she was hiding.

"Santana…" Quinn exclaimed, "…holy hell, what happened to you tonight?"

Santana froze under the direct questioning.

"What are you talking about, Quinn?" Brittany asked, confused.

"I'm talking about this…" Quinn gave a sharp shove on the door, catching the brunette off-guard, allowing the barrier to cave in on her.

Santana stood there, naked, exposed, revealing a huge purple and blue bruise that covered her entire right hip. Not visible to her friends was the hard knot forming underneath the discolored skin.

Once inside the bathroom though, the two blondes saw the full extent of Santana's unintended revelation. She had a huge bite mark on the soft flesh of her left breast. There was a trail of smaller bruises around Santana's pelvis and along her neck and shoulders. Brittany's eyes grew wide in horror as she realized the darkish streaks down the brunette's inner thighs appeared to be dried blood.

"Santana…I…" Brittany's soft voice trailed off as she choked back tears.

Quinn looked past the brunette's exposed figure, seeing Santana's reflection in the vanity mirror. There were long red scrapes up and down her backside.

The brunette collapsed to the bathroom tile under the intense scrutiny. Both girls moved quickly to brace her fall, Brittany catching her in her arms, lowering her slowly.

Brittany wanted to somehow physically comfort Santana as the teen's sobs finally broke free, but she was agonizingly hesitant, not knowing where to touch her that wouldn't bring Santana more pain. All she knew to do was rub Santana's dark raven hair and gently rock her, trying to envelop her in a cocoon of solace and love.

"Santana, you need to tell us who did this to you." Quinn was firm but compassionate.

Only sobs answered her.

"Santana, you're safe now," Brittany tried, "you can tell us what happened so we know how to help you."

"I…I…can't…" her voice cracked.

Quinn stood to grab the folded towel that was on the corner of the vanity, bending again to wrap it around the brunette's trembling shoulders. Brittany assisted, bringing the fluffy, oversized towel around Santana's front, tucking it on the side and returning some of the broken girl's dignity.

Quinn lifted her friend's chin with a soft touch, "What happened?"

"I was…," she paused, flashes of the events flooding her thoughts and emotions so fast she felt light-headed. "I…was…oh god…I was raped," she cried as she blacked out.

Santana heard Quinn and Brittany's muffled voices before her eyelids fluttered open. She wasn't sure exactly what just happened or how much time had passed, but she was no longer on the bathroom floor. She was lying under a blanket on Brittany's bed, still wrapped in a pink bath towel. She looked across the dimly-lit room to see two blonde heads bobbing close together in serious discussion.

She sat up slightly, pushing herself up on her elbows. "Britt? Quinn?"

The blonde heads turned toward her, both had tears streaming down their faces. Brittany was at her side within seconds. "Hey…" the tall girl gave her a light but reassuring hug.

"I'm sorry," Santana didn't know what to say at this point.

"No, what are you sorry for?" Brittany asked sweetly.

"I never meant to drag you two into my mess."

"Stop it, we're your friends, San…" Quinn added, "We want to help you."

Santana smiled at her former co-Cheerios. Their presence did actually bring her comfort.

"Santana? Will you please tell us who did this to you?" Quinn asked again.

The brunette hesitated, thoughts flying through her head. Did I cause this? Could I get arrested for trespassing into the stadium? Will he come after me again if I say something?

"Santana?" Quinn leaned in closer to her. "You're hurt. We need to get you to the hospital where they can examine you," she paused, "but they'll have to know who assaulted you."

The word assaultedresonated within the four walls of the small bedroom. Santana looked into Quinn's green eyes. She saw genuine concern. She looked up into the warm blue eyes that always brought her peace. Brittany smiled a smile that only she could make. In that one gesture, Santana saw encouragement, acceptance…protection. The brunette took in a deep, shaky breath, "It was Karofsky."

Quinn moved quickly toward the dresser, picking up the black flip phone sitting on top.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Santana panicked, throwing the blanket off of her.

"Calling the police," she motioned with the phone.

"NO! Stop…please." Santana pleaded. "You can't call them."

"That maniac is out on the streets right now. He could hurt somebody else." Quinn rationalized.

"No, please…" she pleaded, "you can't call…no, you can't tell anyone, noooo." Things were spinning even further out of Santana's control, threatening to zap the young girl of her last bit of mental stability.

From behind, Brittany wrapped her long arms around Santana, "we won't…please calm down, honey…shhh, calm down…shhh."

Santana allowed herself to surrender to the spiritual balm she felt radiating from Brittany's body into her own, slowing her breathing and relaxing her tense muscles, easing herself back onto the bed next to the person who meant the most to her in the world.

Time seemed to stand still for a few moments as Quinn watched the taller blonde calm the wreck of a girl before her. The pause was broken with a light knock on the bedroom door.

"Is everything ok in there, girls?"

Quinn recognized the muffled voice as Mrs. Pierce.

"We're alright, Mrs. P," Quinn responded, trying to present a light-hearted atmosphere.

"It's very late," the voice reminded.

Quinn looked down at the time on the phone in her hand. 1:48AM.

"We're winding down, Mom," Brittany offered, "Goodnight."

"Night, girls." The hallway went silent.

Quinn turned back to Santana, "I'm sorry to push this, but we're running out of time here."

The other girls stared blankly at her.

The shorter blonde, narrowed her green-eyes toward Santana, clearly hesitant to distress her any further. "You are losing your window of opportunity…to…um…collect valuable evidence," she stammered.

"I don't care," she responded, "besides…nobody will believe me anyway."

"Of course they will," Brittany encouraged.

"Santana, they can conduct a thorough exam at the hospital if we go now." Quinn was starting to sound exasperated. It made no sense to her not to press charges against that monster.

"To find out what…?" Santana was growing tired of being pressured to pursue anything more about this awful night. At this point, she only wanted to forget.

"They can collect hair and semen samples…to prove he did this." Quinn had watched her fair share of Law & Order reruns toward the end of her pregnancy.

Santana rose as quickly as her shattered body would allow, pushing past the well-intended former head cheerleader and retreating back into the bathroom, locking its door behind her.

Quinn locked eyes with Brittany and sighed heavily.

"Just stop, ok?" the taller blonde demanded, "You're torturing her at this point."

"I'm trying to protect her."

"You're looking at this through your eyes, Quinn. Have some respect for what she wants! God!" Brittany brushed past the shorter girl to check on Santana.

Quinn had never witnessed Brittany raise her voice. She quietly grabbed her blanket and a pillow, opening the bedroom door to head downstairs to the couch. Privacy was all she knew to give Santana at this point.

Brittany lightly knocked on the bathroom door, "Santana?" No answer. "It's just me now…Quinn went downstairs to sleep." A minute past before she heard the door unlatch from the inside. The tall blonde turned the knob and slowly pushed it open. Santana was sitting on the floor with her knees pulled up against her chest, still wrapped in the towel, her head buried in shame.

Without saying a word, Brittany took a clean washcloth from the cabinet and wet it in some warm, soapy water. She bent her long, slender legs to sit next to Santana, lifting up her hung head. She softly wiped the right side of Santana's face then the left side, looking deeply into the Latina's dark-brown eyes which were empty tonight. Brittany's soul ached for her.

She raised her left hand to untuck the top part of Santana's towel, pausing a moment, seeking unarticulated permission. Santana's head twitched in acquiescence. As the top of the towel fell, Brittany used the washcloth to trace the outline of the red, raised bite mark on Santana's breast. Seeing that Santana's skin was broken under the residual outline of teeth, Brittany raised up to open a drawer on the vanity, removing a small tube of ointment and a cotton ball. She squeezed a small amount onto the white ball and gently dabbed it along the broken skin.

The young blonde stood again to rinse the washcloth under the warm water, applying fresh soap then she kneeled back before the brunette. She opened more of the towel and tenderly helped the Latina relax her legs. Brittany used the warm, wet cloth to wipe some of the dried maroon streaks, raising her eyes to look at Santana, monitoring her for the least sign of apprehension. Brittany could see as she moved one of the injured teen's legs that some fresh blood had soaked onto the pink towel, sounding the blonde's internal alarm.

"Tan, you're still bleeding a little. Please let us get you some help," she urged gently.

"I can't, Britt…please understand…I just can't," she quietly pleaded.

Brittany put her arms around her best friend, pulling her close while fighting internally to adhere to Santana's wishes or to wake her mom and force the broken Latina to seek help.

"Would it be ok to take a bath?" Santana asked weakly.

"It's your decision," Brittany said against better judgment.

"Will you…help…me," she requested, looking into caring blue eyes.

"Of course…," the blonde assured her, "let me run some water for you."

Brittany moved toward the tub to start filling it with water, and out of habit, almost added lavender-scented bath salts as she always did for her own baths but stopped in her tracks, reminding herself of the damage Santana had suffered tonight. Fresh tears formed, and she discreetly wiped the corners of her beautiful blue eyes before turning to pull a fresh towel from the cabinet.

Brittany helped Santana stand and discard her soiled towel then lowered her gently into the warm water. Santana let out a sharp, involuntary gasp as her body met the water.

"Shhh...it's ok," Brittany reassured her, knowing the reaction was not because the water was too hot.

"It burns," Santana confessed.

"Do you want me to give you some privacy now?" Brittany tenderly stroked the back of Santana's head.

"Don't leave me, please." Santana grabbed Brittany by the arm.

"No…no, I won't…I'll stay with you as long as you need me."

"I just want his…filth…off me, Britt…."

"I know, honey." Brittany used a fresh soapy cloth to bathe Santana's back and shoulders. She wanted to soothe her as much as possible under the circumstances, realizing the amount of trust the fragile girl was granting her. She could still smell the remnants of cigarette smoke in the Latina's hair as she leaned over her. Using a cup from the counter, she wet the dark hair then gently washed it with her favorite shampoo.

Brittany paused briefly as the moment arrived to clean between Santana's legs. The violation seemed too great to the sensitive blonde so she applied more soap to the cloth and placed it in the brunette's hand. Santana silently cleaned herself, tears streaming down her weary face. Brittany diverted her eyes out of quiet respect but saw the clear water turn pink.

She placed a spirit-mending kiss in the middle of Santana's bare back, "Promise me you'll make a doctor's appointment this week."

There was no response.

"Please…" she tried.

"Ok."

"Promise?"

"I promise," Santana whispered, visibly shivering, water droplets falling from her dark, wet hair.

The blonde reached for the clean towel, "Let's get you dried off and into some warm clothes."

A few minutes later, Santana stepped into an oversized pair of red plaid pajama bottoms and a fitted gray t-shirt she had pulled from her Cheerios duffle bag. She had no way of knowing the hell that would play out at the school when she packed the bag earlier in the evening.

Santana ran a brush through her long dark hair, allowing it to air-dry some more. She turned off the bathroom light, leaving Brittany's bedroom lit only by an outside street lamp. She could see the silhouette of her best friend lying on the bed. Unexpectedly a flash of memory flooded her mind, returning her to the underside of the dark bleachers…the outline of a dark figure moving toward her…shouting…being propelled against a hard surface…pressure in her throat…gasping for air…intense pain in her groin…trying to scream out.

"Santana?" Brittany's familiar voice yanked her back to the present.

The brunette moved toward the bed, her pulse racing. She crawled under the covers next to Brittany and laid her head on the tall girl's chest, wrapping a slender arm tightly around the blonde's waist. Brittany asked no more questions, sensing Santana's needs now were primitive. Brittany held her close and kissed the top of her head. Santana lost herself in the rhythmic beat of Brittany's heart, having no more tears left to cry, she slowly drifted into sleep.