A/N: Glee characters belong to R.M., not me.

This story is completely AU and takes place approximately 7 years after graduation from McKinley. Most of the major Glee characters will make an appearance at some point. Santana's POV.

So, for those of you who are reading/following/favoriting/reviewing this THANK YOU! Any suggestions or criticisms are totally welcomed and appreciated.

NOTE: Dream sequence will be in italics

Chapter 3:

Quinn attempts to carry on smalltalk in a way that a person might, given the proper psychosis, with an inanimate object. Not really with the expectation of a response of any kind.

"Hey San, beautiful weather we're having." She husks with that seductive gravelly quality to her voice.

I ungracefully continue my descent down the steps leading away from the "Princess Suite," the room designated for newcomers at the Serenity Ranch and arguably, the best room on site. After wiping the sleep from my eyes, and making sure to greet Quinn with my best "don't fuck with me" glare, I grab a cup from the counter near the coffee pot and begin helping myself. The slight tremor in my hand makes this task infinitely more difficult than it should be.

The kitchen, being one of the several common areas of the house that I make careful efforts to frequent, as infrequently as possible, happens to be the first room I reach, upon exiting my room.

"Sup new blood?" A young guy with a Mohawk sits across from me at the table, shooting a wink towards my direction after eying me up and down.

Quinn takes the seat next to him, coffee already in hand, smoothing down her yellow sundress as she scoots towards the table. Her hair is long and blonde and in subtle waves framing her face perfectly as she smiles at me.

Turning my attention over to Winky, I give a cheap smirk with a tight jaw and manage, "hey there, Mohawk."

"Name's Puck. Quinn tells me you guys used to go school together in Bumfuck, Ohio. Small world dude, small world" he says, shaking his head in amusement at the coincidence.

"Yeah, Q and I go way back, don't we Barbie?" I ask giving her a subtle nod.

"So what's your poison there chica?" He asks, thinking he's cute.

"Oh you know, I'm a simple girl. Just the occasional absinthe enemas for me. But the real reason I'm here is for my bleach and battery acid diet. People can be such haters." I deadpan.

Quinn starts to laugh but instead chokes on the mouthful off coffee she was attempting to swallow.

He gives me this dumfounded look, as if he actually just bought my ludicrous story.

"She's kidding." Quinn manages, after her coughing subsides.

"Damn girly, just being my curious self. S'okay though, I'll just chalk that up on account of the DTs. You'll be warming up to the Puckasaurus in no time-hey Finneous, grab me a waffle!" He shouts to a tall, dopey looking guy across the kitchen.

"Catch ya later druggies." He tosses a wink and a smile at Quinn and I before exiting the table.

I wipe my hand down the length of my face, not really too sold on the fact at this is actually what's happening right now in my life. I open my mouth to say something, I'm sure genius, about the little encounter with Mohawk when I feel a hand tap my shoulder lightly.

"Santana Lopez?" A petite blonde woman with excessive facial work but not altogether unpleasant looking, asks.

"That'd be me." I tell her, looking up from the table. I'm partly grateful for her interruption from potential walks down memory lane with Mary Fucking Sunshine over here, but a little apprehensive about the prospect of what she might like from me.

I'd already done the strip search with Nancy Grace's stunt double (you know she has one), one of the techs here at Serenity. I know I'm downplaying it cause I'm a general badass, but that shit's really degrading and not something I ever pictured myself having to do, at least in this lifetime. Then, I attempted to complete what they referred to as my first U.A., aka urine analysis, aka public viewing of my pee pee time. But I froze up on account of the fact that my bladder forgot it's from Lima Heights. So, I could only look forward to whatever came next.

"It's nice to meet you, I'm April Rhodes, the on-call nurse." She tells me with a gentle smile. She's actually kind of beautiful for an old lady and if you look between the collagen here and there, she could pass for Q's mom. She tells me to follow her to the nurses station so they can get all my meds straightened out. As I lag behind her slightly, I wonder to myself if she knew that her true calling in life was to do voice overs for cartoons.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The next time Quinn asks me about the weather, it's a little later in the afternoon. Same day. I'm beginning to think it must be a line straight out of the Serenity script or something but if she's asks again, imma slap a ho! There's the old Santana, I thought, almost.

It's 73 degrees and sunny in Malibu today and despite knowing this to be fact, (I managed to swipe my iPhone as they were locking up everything else that connects me to the outside world) I was going to keep it to myself. Santana 1, Quinn 0.

I decided not to encourage her stupid efforts of trying to fill the uncomfortable silence between us. But what she doesn't know is that now, I'm taking a mental note to write a manifesto of sorts entitled, "The Silence Between Us: The Santana and Quinn Story" in hopes she reads it and takes its message to heart. Shit's gonna be uncomfortable.

I subconsciously back my way into the living area, never turning around, finally (un)settling myself on the sectional in the center of the room. She cautiously follows me inside and with great apprehension, takes a seat next to me. I roll small balls of lint between my fingers from the afghan beside me, diverting my attention anywhere but in the direction of (Pretty) Girl, Interrupted over on my right.

I knew she wanted to say something but she continued towards something else, and I'm not sure I wanted to hear any of it. But as much as it pained me to admit, even her company was a welcomed distraction from thoughts of having to meet my individual counselor later that afternoon. Kristin or Kacey or whatever the fuck her name was. So I lazily added to my collection of lint balls, as though they were my main focus.

I maintained a certain presence with Quinn through my periphery and could feel her steady gaze come to rest on my face. I briefly acknowledged to myself, that my physical appearance had taken somewhat of a beating, so-to-speak, during those tumultuous two years (if i'm being honest, three and a half) of self-destruction and wondered how different I must have appeared to her. I had put on some weight and just generally disregarded my physical appearance altogether. I mean, I still wasn't by any means, ugly, this is still me we're talking about. But no effort. Because effort took effort and I was tapped out. Wait, was I starting to care about something? Nah.

"This is new." She states, casually stretching her arm out towards my elbow that was facing her.

She drifted her cold fingers lightly across my skin, outlining the two and a half inch scar that finished at the top of my forearm. After a moment too long, it seemed, my brain had recognized that I was supposed to feel something, triggering a reaction of fear. I jerked away as if I'd been burned, and shifted further from her into the couch. It struck me just then how long it'd been since I experienced any physical contact of any kind. I heard a sigh escape her soft lips, not necessarily one of pity or frustration, but perhaps an indication that she realized her error.

Without another word passing from either of us, I left the living space and returned to my bedroom, exhausted as ever. Finding the room to myself, I peeled back the covers on my pristinely made bed (courtesy of the wonderful staff at this fine establishment) and sunk into my pillow. I closed my eyes and shut my mind off from this realm, only to enter another.

A beautifully poised, more stereotypical version Quinn appeared before me. She had emerged hot as ever, in her cheerios uniform and high ponytail to match, from some back ally memory that was never meant to be uncovered. While revisiting with this fantasy-Quinn, this blast from my past, we flipped through an album together. I was pleasantly inundated with images of pink hair, pyramid bodies, red pleated skirts and a whole lotta sundresses. She was looking at me with those pretty greens while playfully nudging my stomach with her elbow, just laughing so freely.

Suddenly those eyes were looking more blue than green and she grew a few inches taller, looking less and less Quinn-like. The smile on my face drooped into that default frown shape we're all more familiar with, and the sweet sounds of laughter turned into a cacophony of sobs.

"Why would you do this Santana!?" She asked loudly between cries, rubbing roughly at those pretty blues. And then softer, "You always protected me, San, always, even when we were little."

I watched my own broken self look at her, guilt-stricken, heart- broken, my breath heaving in my chest, swallowing copious amounts of air while the muscles in my chest kept tightening and flexing.

"I know Britts, I'm so sorry," I offer weakly, knowing it would never be enough.

I turned my back to to her, desperately seeking composure. I drew a thick blunt that I didn't know I'd been holding, toward my lips. It was dark all around us and difficult to make out our surroundings. But as soon as I sparked the lighter with my free hand and the flame flashed, I saw the enormous willow tree and the space underneath it that we both knew so well. I mechanically brought the light to the tip of the brown paper and took a deep drag. The slow burn settling in my lungs was a comfort. In my new life, it was my go-to substitute in place of a warm, indescribably soft hug from my sweetest love. I told myself, it more or less had the same effect.

Feeling much lighter than before, I slowly turned back to face her. I held my arm outstretched in offering with the blunt and said, "here Britts this will make you feel bett..."

But it wasn't my teary-eyed dancer I was facing, it was a furious Sam who's shirt looked comically small, making it appear as though his muscles were trying to break free of it.

Without a word, he took my throat in his fist and squeezed, slamming me up against the light blue siding of the Pierce residence.

"Please, please!" I tried to choke out. Although I'm not quite sure what I'm pleading for, finally getting exactly what I deserved.

"I'm sorry," I tried again, hoping to convey the truest sincerity I felt through my words. His other arm stretched out and I thought for sure I was dead. But instead of joining his other hand around my throat, he began smoothing his fingers gently over my hair, while the grip of his other hand was slowly loosening.

"It's okay Santana," he whispered as soothingly as a person could.

I couldn't begin to understand what was happening as everything started to go dark. My heavy eyes cracked opened and I was met with the image of a petite redhead (a woman I would later learn to be my roommate, Emma). She was standing at my bedside, slowly stroking my hair and softly telling me that I was alright, that it was just a bad dream. If only she knew the truth.

I was still breathing quite heavily and my pulse was racing. My body was drenched in sweat from the intensity of the dream but also from the effects of withdrawal. I was still in the detox phase of rehabilitation. My body's way of ridding itself of the poison I forced into it, day after meaningless day. I hoped all the bad inside me would pour right out along with it.

The sheets were damp and sticking to me and my hair was matted and stuck to my head. My erratic breathing had slowed but was replaced with fresh tears rolling from the corners of my eyes, one indistinguishably after the next, in a steady stream onto my pillow. I felt Emma's fingers gently wiping the tears from my face, quietly humming the tune from a song I didn't know.

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