So there's this girl who always appears in my dreams.

Her name's Brittany.

I've never met Brittany.

But I want to.

She's the love of my life.

Alright, yeah, I get it, you think I'm like some scary creeper freak.

She's real, okay?

Don't stare at me like that!

Like I'm some weird-ass alien monkey that just came down your chimney!

You don't believe me, you can get the fuck out of my face.

Thank you and goodbye.

Anyone else?

No?

Good.

Now back to my story.

Where was I?

Oh!

So Brittany exists.

Somewhere.

And she loves me and wants me to be hers and dreams about me just like I dream about her and yeah.

Still don't believe me?

Well, screw you.

She's real and she's my soul mate!

You'll see.

Just you wait.

"Britt-Britt?"

We're lying down in the shadow of a tall oak tree in the heart of a meadow. The smells of flowers and nature adorn my nostrils.

"Yeah, babe?"

"When am I gonna get to meet you? In real life, I mean."

(This is a dream, okay.)

She looks sideways at me with that mischievous smirk that always drives me nuts. "I don't know."

"I just really think that it's unhealthy to be in a relationship with a dream, y'know what I mean?"

Brittany snorts. "But I thought you love me."

I roll in the grass until my body is safely latched onto hers. "'Course I do."

"But you want the real me."

"Yeah. That way I can have you when I'm asleep and when I'm awake!" I raise my arms up triumphantly at the brilliance and genius of my mind. "And we can have real sex and stuff. Dream sex just makes me wet and frustrated when I wake up. I need a real tongue down in my nether regions, okay? Can't you, like, tell the real you to find me?"

"I don't know. I'll try," she kisses my nose.

"Alright," I look up at the tree above us. Brittany remains quiet, so I turn my head and stick my tongue in her ear, wiggling it until she breaks down and laughs. "Good. Now let's count butterflies."

Because that's what we do. We count butterflies. It's like counting sheep, but way hotter.

"One butterfly," Brittany points up as the beautifully blue creature flutters above us.

"Two butterflies," I gesture to the branch above us, which serves as a landing space for a particularly white butterfly.

"Three butterflies," Brittany sneaks a hand under my shirt.

"Four butterflies," I keep my cool.

"Five butterflies." She's really close to me now, her lips on my neck, her hand caressing my chest.

"S—six butterflies." So. Fucking. Turned. On.

"Seven butterflies." She's on top of me now, her hands snaking across my body and her teeth leaving marks on my neckline.

"Eight butterflies," I say weakly as I become extremely embarrassed about how close I am to reaching climax already. She hasn't even done anything to me yet!

"Nine butterflies," she says sultrily as her hand moves to unbutton my jeans.

"Ten butterflies!" I scream as her hand slips under my panties. I break apart just at a simple touch.

See? I told you it's hot.

As expected, I wake up from dream sex hot and bothered. I roll out of bed and skip to the bathroom to take a freezing-cold shower. When I get out, I take a good look at myself in the long wall mirror.

"Well, hello, there," I say softly as my hands graze my incredibly sexy naked body.

I put on my Cheerios uniform, tie my hair back in a firm ponytail, and leave the house, backpack tightly strapped on my shoulders.

McKinley High isn't exactly what you'd call "pleasant." It's a ghastly old building with peeling plaster walls and a pathetic little sign outside of the front doors that reads, "Wel ome to Mc inley Hi h!"

I sigh in disgust. This is what we get for our hard-earned taxes?

I walk through the front doors into the familiar main hallway. Lockers are lined up on the walls from near to far. I stroll in with my head high and glance at the petty little insignificant students, daring them to try to irritate me.

I saunter into the choir room. The kids are all chattering excitedly among themselves, as usual.

I plop down on a chair and put my feet up on another, extracting my nail file from the side pocket of my backpack.

"Santana."

I gaze up at Puck, the owner of the voice. I cock my eyebrow.

"Go out with me."

My other eyebrow raises in astonishment. "Go out with you?" I ask in revulsion.

"I'll make you a happy woman."

"No freakin' way," I go back to my nail file.

"Come on, gimme a chance."

"I have a girlfriend."

Grave silence falls in the classroom. It's so quiet, I swear I can hear hair rustling in the nonexistent wind. I reluctantly look up again.

"Wait—you're gay?" Puck's eyes are wide with shock.

"Mhmm," I hum slowly. "Capital G gay."

They simply stare at me.

"Well, then, allow me to let you borrow my strap-on…" Quinn mutters as the rest of the Glee Club giggles in delight.

"Alright, you keep your opinions to yourself, or Ima go all kung-fu shit on yo' ass," I point my nail file at her.

"Santana, stop, just stop," Kurt shakes his head in disbelief.

"What, fruitcake?"

"You're not ghetto."

"I'm not ghetto? Do you know where I'm from?"

"Lima Heights Adjacent," they all sing in unison.

"Exactly!" I huff.

"Yeah, that's not very intimidating since Lima Heights Adjacent is the best part of Lima," Kurt continues. "You live in the suburb of suburbs."

"You don't know what goes on in there! What I've seen! My eyes have been scarred!"

"What, someone broke his thousand-dollar lawnmower?"

I open my mouth, ready to retort a snappy answer, except I have nothing to say. I close my mouth, cross my arms over my chest, and pout.

The great and invulnerable Santana Lopez has been defeated.

I narrow my eyes at them. This war is so not over.

"Anyway," Rachel changes the subject. "So who is she?"

"Who's who?"

"Your girlfriend," she says slowly, as if she's explaining to a particularly rebellious first-grader that you aren't supposed to eat glue.

"Oh. Her name's Brittany."

"Where'd you meet her?"

I gaze at their faces. Each one shines with curiosity.

"In my dreams," I say carefully.

"Are you—are you serious right now?" Puck calls out incredulously. "You're dating a fucking dream?"

"Look, she exists. I just haven't met her yet. She's sitting somewhere right now and daydreaming about me."

They gawk at me skeptically, their eyes only half-showing under their critical eyelids.

"Just you wait."

So yeah there's this girl who appears in my dreams.

Her name's Brittany.

She's real, okay?

And she's mine.