Chapter 13 – Things Certain People Don't Do, Like Caring or Crying

I was outside again and it was freezing. To keep my teeth from chattering I had to clench my jaw, but that only made being cold louder. Why did nobody else look cold? I bet it was the lake. Water always makes me cold when it's nearby and I'm not in it.

I wasn't sure if I had followed people out here or if they had followed me. I guess it didn't matter. But Mercedes was out here and she wouldn't follow people. Santana wouldn't follow either. Nobody would. Being alone was lonely. One time Rachel said something about me being a sheep and that it was bad because I was doing things just because everyone else was. I wished I had told her that sheep didn't do things just because, but because that's what they were supposed to do. Instead I said something weird about sheep needing help when they fell on their back, because they couldn't get up by themselves.

We were all standing and talking. They were talking. I was standing by Santana. Santana was smoking. I kept almost asking her if she had a jacket, but I liked being out here with her and with everyone. I didn't want her to say no and suggest we go inside.

Earlier when I had come inside after smoking with Puck, I snuck to the bathroom and rinsed my mouth out. I didn't want Santana to be worried. But then I realized I had no reason to be worried because now she was smoking one of Puck's weed-cigarettes.

She made a lot of things look easy. Smoking, folding laundry into fancy shapes, doing her nails, whistling with her fingers, and cracking eggs with only one hand. The last one didn't even seem possible, because her hands were small.

I held my hand out, palm up, and peeked at hers from the corner of my eye. Maybe my hands were too big to crack eggs. There was more yolk and stuff inside an egg than there was shell. Egg shells were tiny and delicate and that's exactly what her hands were like. Tiny and delicate. She looked at me. I was still staring at her hand. I looked away and stuffed my hand back in my pocket.

Ostrich eggs were huge though. My eyes widened and I smiled at the thought of Santana trying to crack one open.

I couldn't stop smiling, so I sucked my lips into my mouth. I was too distracted with not laughing to continue figuring out why Santana was good at doing things with her hands.

I widened my eyes and looked around at everyone. They hadn't heard that, right? I didn't want them to think I meant she was good at hand-sex things.

She was though.

"Hey, Britt." Santana got my attention.

Uh oh. There was no way she hadn't heard that last thought. I turned to her and reached for the cigarette she was holding. My heart started racing, so I acted normal and when people smoked in groups they normally shared cigarettes.

I was holding the cigarette, but she was still watching me. Why was she watching me? I peeked at her. She nodded to an envelope Finn was holding out towards me. "That's for you," she whispered.

Oh. What? I had missed something. Was that paper to roll more cigarettes? I didn't think it was the right kind of paper. After I had rinsed my mouth out earlier, I helped Puck make more half-weed, half normal cigarettes with little papers and then he said two of them were mine and gave me an empty pack to keep them in.

I pulled that pack out from my back pocket. Finn could just have one of mine. I didn't need two. And rolling new ones was hard, especially if he wanted to use the wrong kind of paper. "You can have one of these." I held the pack towards him.

He looked confused. Everyone did.

"It's a birthday card, Hun," Santana whispered and she took the card from Finn.

My first reaction was to look for Puck when she called me Hun. I hadn't told Santana what he said yet, but I hadn't had the chance. Maybe I could now.

"Where's Puck?" I asked. It would probably be easier to tell her if he wasn't watching. I couldn't find him and I was surprised he wasn't outside with everyone.

Santana glanced around and then brought her eyes back to me. "I'm not sure."

Pretty, big, pretty, brown eyes. She made me want make my eyes as bright as hers. But I couldn't. Mine felt heavy and hers looked warm and inviting. I smiled. I smiled bigger when I couldn't stop imagining eyes inviting people to do things. But it was true. Everyone thought it was the mouth that invited you places, but that wasn't always true.

"You have pretty eyes," I mouthed and she leaned in. I hadn't spoken nearly loud enough.

I didn't want to say it again. I could see Finn watching us. Did Santana know he was watching us? Maybe. She looked concerned about something.

It was hard to secretly ask Santana if it was okay that Finn was watching. Eyes couldn't ask questions that were that long. Usually. So I just shrugged and brought the cigarette to my mouth. I had forgotten I was holding it.

But it hurt. It was hot. I dropped it.

Finn laughed, but only because I laughed. I stopped laughing though. It hurt my lip to laugh. I didn't understand why it had burned me. They never burned before.

"What happened?" Mercedes stepped closer.

Santana was crouched down and picking up the cigarette.

"It was hot," I mumbled.

My lips shook harder. The only reason I could think that they started shaking more was because they had been tricked. They thought they were going to get warm for a second, and then the heat had burned them.

Santana moved my chin to look at my lip. She looked angry, or extra-concerned. I couldn't tell the difference, because it was too dark outside. She thought I was hurt. I pulled away. I was fine. It didn't hurt anymore.

"It's fine." I stepped away. It really was fine.

When I moved my feet had stepped first and then my body moved into them. It was weird. The last time I had smoked with Puck, it had felt like I had a warm towel wrapped around my brain and it didn't feel like that now.

I peeked back at Santana and she was still frowning. I didn't like it. I wanted to tell her about sheep to make her feel better, because it made me feel better, but my throat cracked and I made a weird noise. It hurt and I swallowed it back down. There was too much pressure in my lungs and I couldn't hold it down. But after that noise, I was fine. Way more than fine.

Santana had picked up that cigarette, right? I looked for it. I started to crouch, but someone grabbed my elbow. They pulled me up fast and so I ducked. I didn't want hit my head on the roof.

They stopped pulling me up and I reached back down to find the cigarette. I went slow this time, so nobody thought anything of it. It's just that there was a space in between the boards of wood and that was the best hiding place for cigarettes to roll into.

"Dude, why are you freaking out?" I heard Puck laugh. Was he talking to me? "She's high. So what."

Someone grabbed my hand and slipped their fingers to fit between mine. Santana. She was holding my hand. I could tell, because her hand was small and we always held hands at night in bed. I stood back up. She was warm.

Puck said something I didn't hear.

"Fuck off," Santana hissed at him. It startled me.

They were talking about something. I tried to listen, but I was more concerned with when he had walked outside. It must have just happened.

I was walking inside with Santana. She was still holding my hand and I followed her into the bathroom.

She shut the door behind us and turned the light on. This was the only room in the whole cabin that didn't have a lamp. It had a Marilyn Monroe mirror with lights that were waybrighter than the porch light had been. I could barely keep my eyes open.

I set my beer on the counter. It was empty. I had only had two beers. I was making sure not to drink too much. But maybe it didn't matter anymore since I was high. I shrugged to myself. I wasn't sure.

Santana turned on the water and I put my hands underneath it. At first it was freezing, but then it got warm. Really, really, warm. The water made a pool in my hands and then I spread my fingers to let the pool drain. After a few pools my palms were fire red. It was weird that blue water made hands red.

"Here," Santana hummed and moved a rag underneath the water. She dropped the rag and snapped her hands away from the water. I watched her ball up her fist and curse under her breath. I should have told her the water was hot. After she turned the hot water off, she soaked the rag, rung it out, and then moved it towards my lip.

It stung. My bottom lip felt raw. The rag was rougher than sandpaper. And then I saw a black smudge on the rag. Was that from my lip?

The tip of my tongue hurt too. My taste buds felt like they were being pulled off.

"Wait," I pulled away. "It's too hot."

"The rag is cold, Britt." Santana watched me. She was waiting. She was so patient. But she never looked impatient with anything I did.

I still wasn't sure what had burned me and why we were in here.

I looked in the mirror and I didn't see anything bad. My eyes looked foggy, there were bags underneath them, my hair was going in wrong directions, but other than that I was fine. There was spot just below my lip that was pink, but that was it. I stuck my tongue out and my tongue was fine. It felt like it should be burnt, but it was fine. Exactly like a hot-chocolate-burn.

I watched myself scrunch up my face. I was scowling. I didn't think I was upset enough to be scowling.

When I looked at Santana's reflection in the mirror, she was smirking at me. It instantly melted the scowl I had on my face into something warmer.

"Does it hurt?" she asked. I think she was looking for me to talk. I hadn't said anything yet.

I shrugged, but at the same time I shook my head, no. "No," I said, remembering to talk. "A little." I changed my mind. It did hurt a little, but we could go back out. Using rags made it hurt more.

She patted the counter with her hand, twice. "Hop up," she directed me.

I did. The counter wasn't tall. I didn't even need to jump.

Santana moved in front of me, in between my legs. She was looking at my lip again and still smirking. My brain was flipping and flipping, trying to figure out what she was smirking at. Her eyes looked puffy, probably from being tired and smoking. Still inviting though. And they weren't anywhere near as red and swollen as my eyes. And her lips looked puffy. Her lips were always puffy.

She leaned into me and put her lips on my neck. I could feel them slipping over my skin. Then her tongue. It was a weird feeling. Like pulling seaweed over my neck. That thought sent chills down my back. Why was I thinking about seaweed? I got more chills. Good chills? Yes. I smiled, hummed, and let my body relax into her kisses.

My neck kept getting wetter. It felt good. She was warm and she smelled nice. I wanted her to kiss my neck forever. Maybe she would. She would if I said I wanted it for my birthday.

Now I was smirking.

I wanted it to be just us here. The bathroom door was shut and we were the only ones that could see each other, but other people were here. Other people were distracting. I could hear them outside. It made it hard to focus. The butterflies in my stomach were forgetting to keep turning. They didn't want to get interrupted and I think it was partly because I knew Santana didn't want to be interrupted.

I wanted to open up her pink present and massage her boobs and I wish she hadn't invited people yet. Maybe tomorrow would have been better for a surprise party.

I shook my head. Stop. Why was I complaining and blaming her? No. I wasn't blaming her for anything. I was just thinking. It was true that we couldn't do sex-things when other people were here. Maybe. Other people made our relationship more confusing and I wanted it to be easy.

She stopped kissing my neck. I opened my eyes and she looked confused. It wasn't the look I had been expecting.

"Are you okay?" she asked. Her eyes darted across every inch of my face, even to my hands a few times. Now she looked worried. And if she kept looking that hard at me, she was going to be able to read my thoughts.

Was she okay? She was acting weird. Or I was acting weird. I couldn't tell.

"Does your lip hurt?" She grabbed the rag again. Gently, she pressed it to my lip.

"What's happening?" It was meant to be about me jumping from weird thoughts to weirder thoughts, but after I said it I knew it wasn't specific enough. She couldn't read my mind even when it felt like she could. "My lip is fine." I repeated myself.

Her eyes darted to the door and then back to me. She smiled and cocked her head. "It would be better if you hadn't put the cigarette in your mouth backwards." She ran her thumb over the bottom of my lip. And then she kissed the burned spot, carefully. It was sweet. I should burn my lip more often.

"We should go back out on the lake," I suggested. Being alone with her was making me really, really wish we were alone. "Isn't this the only bathroom? What if someone has to pee? And Quinn is going to be here soon." I didn't want to have invited Quinn and then not notice when she got here, especially after I had said something mean to her last night.

Santana's eyebrows scrunched together.

"Oh, or not the boat. It's probably scarier when we can't see the water."

She started to say something, but she never said it.

I waited. It felt like a long time. Maybe it wasn't a long time, but she was looking at my lip again.

"My lip is fine," I told her. I reached my hand up and touched it.

The corners of her mouth tightened.

"You came in here to help take care of my lip?" It was a dumb question, but I asked it anyways. I wanted us to be on the same page and I was starting to feel like we weren't.

"You told me you didn't want me taking care of you."

Oh. The bathroom got quiet. I shifted my eyes to the door, and then back to her. She was upset. I knew the last place she wanted to be upset was here and now. But she was and now she was going to start making it so she wasn't. I could already see her trying to feel better.

Neither of us were talking. I wanted to give her a hug, I wasn't sure why. Touching was better than not touching. Also hugs were for helping others keep their feelings in when they couldn't hold them in by themselves.

Finally she said something. "I wanted to get away from everyone for a few minutes. I figured we could hang out in here." She smirked again, but it quickly faded. "I wanted to spend time with you, alone."

"Then why did you invite people?" I hadn't meant to say it. Yes I had. I just hadn't meant it to come out the way it had. I meant, if she wanted to have alone time, then it would have been easier without a whole bunch of people here. "I mean-." The look on her face was making me panic. "I don't know why you invited people." The look on her face still didn't change. "I'm sorry, I don't mean it that way. I mean, it would have been okay if it was just you and me for my birthday." I said everything quiet, thinking the softer something was, the better it would feel.

"Should I tell them to leave?"

What? No. I shook my head. I was too scared to say any more.

She shrugged and I could see her getting fired up. "I can do that. I can go out there and tell them all to leave if you want me to. Or maybe I can leave."

She tilted her head and shrugged again. She thought her leaving was a good idea. "I don't know what you want. What do you want? I know everyone else's opinion about everything, I know what they want me to do, but what do you want? All night Puck has been sending me texts-." She pulled out her phone and held it up for me to read a black screen. "-Texts asking when we're going to make out, encouraging me to stand closer to you, hold your hand." She held the phone out to me and I took it. I didn't want to read texts like that if they upset her so much so I set the phone on the counter next to me.

"Rachel," Santana laughed, but it was fake. "She would not shut up about how inappropriate she thought my present was." The pink present? "And now Quinn is coming so she can give even more of her opinion."

I think Santana had cracked. She was overworked, exhausted, and sometimes people get cracks when they give so much away. It was hard to watch her fight with herself. She was trying so hard not to let anymore out, but it wasn't working.

"Do you want to spend time with Quinn? She is-" Santana cut herself off.

I was half a breath away from saying something before I stopped myself. I wasn't sure if it was okay to say something silly right now when this felt serious. But she was Santana so I think it was okay to say whatever I wanted. "I was watching this cartoon at your house and this guy had a barrel full of apple juice..." I slowed down. I looked up at her. She was trying to slow herself down and make herself look patient like she had been seconds earlier. So I continued. "He had apple juice that he wanted to share with someone, but too much was in the barrel and it was shooting out of these cracks." When I gestured with my hands, her eyes widened. "He had to hug the barrel and cover all of the cracks." I mumbled the last part quietly.

It was too hard to tell what she was thinking and it was harder to process everything she had just said. I didn't know where to start.

She sighed and closed her eyes.

Someone knocked on the door. "Hello?" It was Rachel.

"Fuck," Santana cursed. She flung open the door.

Rachel froze mid-knock. The door had almost hit her.

"I'm going to check on everyone," Santana told me, then turned to the door. "Moo-ove." She flicked her hand at Rachel.

Rachel stepped aside and Santana squeezed past her.

I left the bathroom too. I wanted to stay in the bathroom longer, but Rachel didn't like it when other people were nearby while she was peeing. I went and stood in the middle of the cabin, but there were too many people. They were stealing all of the air in the cabin. It was hard to think when it was hard to breath.

So I went outside and I sat on the ground against Santana's car.

The gravel scratched the back of my thigh and some of it got up the legs of my shorts. It was still cold and being inside of her car would be better, but it was locked. That was okay though, it wasn't too bad being outside. It was easier to breath. And if I was in a warm car, I would probably fall asleep.

I didn't want to fall asleep. I just wanted to talk to Santana. But I couldn't talk to Santana unless I figured out how to have a conversation without talking about cartoon barrels of apple juice.

I would let the cold wake up my brain, and then I would go back inside and ask Santana if she wanted to go to the bathroom with me again.

A car drove up. I could hear the gravel crunching underneath the tires. I peeked around Santana's car to make sure it wasn't Quinn, and it wasn't. I rested my head back against the door and listened. The car parked, the brakes squeaked and the tires skidded. Someone was in a hurry. Their car door opened and then slammed shut and I heard the gravel crunching louder as their steps got faster.

Another car pulled up and skidded the same way. Maybe it was just hard to park on gravel.

I was too tired to look this time. I would count to ten and when I looked they would already be at the front door of the cabin and I could see if it was Quinn. Until then I would keep my eyes closed and rest.

Someone crouched in front of me. I opened my eyes. Sam. How did he find me? I was supposed to be hiding.

"We need to go." He put his hands under my arms and started to lift me.

What?

"Go where?" I asked. I didn't want to stand. I wanted to sit down. I wasn't ready to go anywhere and he was making it hard to breath by squeezing against my ribs.

We stood. My legs were shaky and my butt was numb. I tried to sit back down, but he crouched, wrapped his arms around the back of my thighs, and picked me up so I was hanging over his shoulder.

I grunted. "What are you doing?" I kept grunting with each step he took. Did something bad happen? No. I knew something hadn't happened. I was high, not drunk. I remembered walking down the steps, I remembered sitting against Santana's car, and waiting. I remembered everything. "Put me down," I barely could talk. It was hard to say things when I was being carried like potatoes.

I could hear yelling inside the house. I tried to look, but Sam was walking the wrong way.

"They're yelling," I said. My chin bounced against his back.

"Stop squirming." He hugged my legs tighter. I didn't stop. "Brittany, stop or I'll drop you."

Santana was yelling. And I heard Quinn. Why was she here? And I heard a boy. And then Puck. There was too much yelling for me to understand any of it. Way too much. And the music was still loud. Sam needed to let me go. Now.

We stopped moving. He opened the door to his car, dropped me in the passenger seat, and slammed the door shut. It rattled everything inside of my body.

I could have gotten out. I was going to. But then I saw the door to the cabin bust open and Puck push someone out. Dave? He was here.

I locked my door.

Dave stumbled, but didn't fall on the ground. Almost. He caught his balance, stormed back up the porch, and swung at Puck.

What was happening? Where was Santana? She was hiding. She had to be. She was smart.

But where was she?

Sam opened the driver door and got in. He would tell me where Santana was.

"Where's Santana?"

"She's fine." He didn't look at me. He started the car instead.

"What are you doing?" I reached for the key, but he pushed my hand away. I thought we were going to hide in the car, not go anywhere. "I don't want to leave."

"We have to." Sam fought to keep my hand away.

I could get out. There was no way I was going to get the key from him. I reached for my door and he leaned over and grabbed my hands. "Stop, Brittany. Santana told us to go."

I pulled away hard. Hard enough to knock my elbow against the door frame. It hurt, but I pretended it didn't. He cuffed both of my wrists with only one of his hands, and then started to put the car into gear.

I twisted. I wasn't leaving. I turned in the seat and pushed my feet into his side.

He cursed and again told me to stop.

My door opened and I nearly fell out. The back of my head hit someone's chest. I knew who it was. It was him. He knew we were in here, because the car was on, and now he was going to drag me out.

"Calm down." It was Quinn.

I did. But only because she was here and she wasn't Dave. She would know I didn't want to leave. She knew about me and Santana. She knew everything. Sam didn't.

"I'm coming with you." She started to get in the front seat with me.

No. We couldn't leave.

She hugged her arms around me to try and make me stop squirming. Sam put my feet back on my side of the car, and Quinn shut the door behind her.

"She's still kinda out of it," I heard Sam. He was talking about me.

I wasn't. I was angry. They weren't listening.

Quinn inched closer to me and squeezed tighter as Sam started to drive away. She said something. I ignored her. I looked for Santana. But the only people outside were boys. Puck, Dave, Finn.

They must have told me to calm down at least a million times. I couldn't make myself stop, even if I wanted to. I kept squirming. Quinn told me it was fine. She said Santana was fine. She said Santana's dad was coming to the cabin and that Santana asked if they could take me home. She said Santana was coming home too. I believed her and knew it would probably be fine, but I never stopped squirming. I wanted to stop. I was getting cramps.

When we got to the house, she opened the door and I pushed us out. I almost pushed us to the ground.

"Sorry," I breathed.

Now that I was out of the car I didn't know what to do. I didn't have my phone, or my keys, or my purse. I had nothing.

"Can you please drive me back?" I asked Quinn. I couldn't believe how angry I was. They can't just take me places. And even though I was angry, I tried not to look angry or sound angry. I held my breath and waited for her to say she would take me back.

"Santana is on her way, Sweetie." Quinn stepped toward me.

"Don't call me that," I hissed under my breath. I didn't know if she had heard me and I turned and started towards the house before I could find out. I didn't want to see her reaction if she had heard, and I didn't want to stay and have her ask me to repeat myself.

She was following behind me. "It's locked, Brittany, I need to open it for you."

I tried the door anyways. It was locked. Quinn unlocked it and I went straight for my bedroom. I was going to get a spare key for my truck and drive back.

I opened the bedroom door and dropped my arms when I remembered my truck wasn't here. So I sat on my bed. I didn't know what to do. I knew what I wanted to do, I just couldn't figure out how to do it.

I was going to get up and go wait in Santana's room. Sitting in my room felt like I had gotten in trouble and had been sent here, like a child.

"Hey," Quinn poked her head in my room.

I didn't respond. I was still angry. If I talked to her when I was angry I would say mean things.

"Santana is on her way, I promise. She just needs to talk to her dad and then she'll come straight here."

That made me feel better. Not a whole lot, but a little. "Okay," I mumbled. I was getting tired again. More so than I had been when I was sitting outside of the cabin. Now I was tired and frustrated. I still didn't want Quinn around me, but it was too hard to think of a way to ask her to leave.

"She's going to be fine," Quinn said and she was in my room now. I wasn't going to look at her. I had my face resting in my hands and my eyes shut. "The boys are dealing with Karofsky."

I nodded. Whatever.

The bed shifted. She was sitting by me. I felt awful, because I wanted her to be Santana. I never before wanted her to be that, but now I did. I just wanted Santana here.

I moved and laid down so my head was on her lap. That way I would wake up if she left the room.

"Can you wake me up in ten minutes?" I asked. I knew I wasn't going to stay awake much longer.

"Sure."

Xxxxx

My stomach was being noisy. I was hungry. But I was almost there. I was on her street.

Santana had never come home. When I woke up it was the morning and I was still on my bed with Quinn. I had gotten up, careful not to wake Quinn, and then I raced into Santana's room. But her bed was perfectly made and empty. Her car wasn't in the driveway either.

I borrowed Quinn's car. I felt bad for taking it without asking, but it was easier than waking her up. I left her a note saying I would fill her gas tank before I got back and I would be fast. I was going to check Santana's house. That was all. If she wasn't in her house, then I would come back, wake Quinn up, find out when she worked, and then see if I could take her car to the cabin.

Being hungry was good. It made me feel less complicated. Like, if I could eat, I wouldn't be hungry. If I could find Santana, then I could ask questions. Simple. I didn't worry about what questions to ask yet. Any question was fine.

I pulled down the road to Santana's parent's house. Her car was in the driveway. It felt good to see it. The nerves in my stomach fluttered away. But that just made room for me to be even hungrier.

My eyes were heavy, like I had cried way too much last night, and I was moving slow. It had to be because I was unsure. It was confusing. I couldn't decide on exactly what to be unsure about, I just knew I was.

I parked behind Santana. It was the spot I had always parked in when I stayed here before. Santana's little cousin, Marcus, would always use his chalk to draw a blue circle around my truck and when I would leave he would fill in the circle with pictures. Now there was no pictures to park over.

Find Santana. That was all I had to do.

I knocked on the door once. I felt weird knocking. I had never knocked before. There was no answer, so I went inside.

Nobody was in the house. It was clean, warm, smelled amazing, but it was empty. No purses were on the coffee table behind the couch and even if Santana's mom was outside, I would hear her music. She always played music when she was doing things outside.

Santana's car was here though. And there was another car in the driveway. The house shouldn't be empty. I peeked up the stairs and saw all of the bedroom doors closed. Marcus wasn't allowed to close the door when he was in a room, but Santana could close her door. She could be in her room.

She didn't have a room here anymore. I stopped on the third step. Santana wasn't going to be in an empty room. So I went to the kitchen, because that was the only place left in the house.

There were leftovers on the counter. Maybe I wasn't hungry. Food didn't sound like a good idea. Nothing sounded like a good idea. Not being able to find her was giving me too much time to think and fully wake up. Before I had been busy with being sneaky and borrowing Quinn's car, and then driving here, and now I was here.

What now? Something bad probably happened last might.

That thought scared me, and so I stopped thinking it. As soon as I saw Santana, everything would be fine. I nodded to myself. There was a reason she wasn't at the house this morning. Something wasn't right. But she was here. Her car was here. I nodded to myself with more confidence, I just need to find her.

I saw someone in the backyard. I walked to the window, stood on my tippy-toes, and peeked out the window above the sink.

Santana's dad was the first and only person I saw. I wished I could remember his name. I knew it was something I should remember. He was important to Santana.

He was sitting at the outside table, wearing mechanic clothes and his hands were dirty. I bet he had been working on his cars.

I heard Santana. I couldn't see her, but I heard her. "You must have said something to him." She was talking to her dad, because he looked up. I wanted to see her. I scooted and leaned as far as I could, but she was around the side of the house.

"Watch your tone." He warned. He was powerful, but still quiet.

There was a long silence of nobody saying anything.

What were they talking about? I felt weird eavesdropping, but I didn't want to interrupt their conversation. Santana would come inside any second, and then I could make sure she was fine.

"She is taking over your life." Her dad eventually continued.

"She is part of my life." Santana's voice was twice as shaky as it had been before.

Me? My heart started to race. I tried even harder to see Santana. It was hurting my ankles to push myself up on my on my toes so tall. But I had to find her.

Her dad shook his head. He looked angry and disinterested at the same time. There was another long pause before he continued. "She's stripping you of your independence. What happened to the daughter I raised? The Santana I knew would never compromise her education or her reputation for a relationship with a boy, let alone one with a girl."

My heart was pounding in my ears. Soon enough it would be too loud to hear them.

"You didn't raise me," Santana snapped.

Her dad continued speaking as if she hadn't said anything. "Is it because I left your mother?" And then he started talking in Spanish. Both of them did.

I tried so hard to catch on to what they were saying, but I couldn't. They spoke too fast and I didn't recognize any of the words. The longer they talked in Spanish the more uncomfortable I felt. I knew I should leave. I didn't even understand what was being said.

And then he started crying. What? It wasn't for very long. Maybe it didn't count as crying, because he cried the same way he acted around Santana. At first it was angry, and then it was nothing. He cleared his throat.

He wanted his daughter back. That's what he was able to get out before his voice shook, cracked again and he stopped talking.

My body sunk into itself and I sunk back down off of my toes. If it were possible, I would have wanted to sink all the way through the floor. Making someone cry was a gross feeling. Especially someone who wasn't supposed to cry. I have never heard my dad cry. Most dads don't cry, ever. I didn't know why.

"If it's because you're mad that I left you and your mother, then I will come back-." He stopped talking because he was running out of breath. His voice wasn't shaky anymore though. It was powerful. "Making it so your mother had to tell me about your relationship with her is cruel, Santana. It's cruel to your mother. What you're doing is selfish."

I shouldn't be hearing this. At all. So I left. I walked out of the kitchen, ran to Quinn's car, and I sat in the driver seat. I couldn't decide if I wanted to leave or not. I hadn't seen Santana yet.

There was a knock on my window. It scared me. I was out of breath or I would have screamed.

It was Santana's mom. She smiled and waved at me. "What are you doing here, Honey?" She was holding a grocery bag. She must have just pulled up.

I didn't want to tell her.

"Come inside, I'll make you breakfast." She started to the front door.

I shook my head. I started the car and I left.