MPOV

"Wow," I said. "I really need to go home."

Sam turned around. He held up two cans of Coke. My face broke into a wide smile. "Really? It's only, like, six o'clock."

I quirked an eyebrow and glanced at the clock behind us. "Sam, it's eight-thirty."

When he saw me staring at the clock, he also checked the time. "Huh… it is eight-thirty."

"You have a keen sense of observation."

He bitched: "You don't bite the hand that gives you a ride."

"Don't flatter yourself, Evans. I'd never bite your hand."

"You could've fooled me." He sassed.

I stuck my tongue out at him and grabbed the cokes, whilst making a beeline for the front door. I really did have to go home. I grabbed my backpack and walked out of the house, and onto the driveway. I could hear Sam whining inside about not having proper friends.

I had to hoist myself into Sam's truck, it was that huge. I settled the cokes down in cup holders and sighed contently. After my miniature breakdown last month, I didn't know how Sam was going to deal. But the truth was he handled me better than I expected, actually. It was pathetic how I clung to him like an emo teen, but whatever. That was over. The brooding was over.

"So," Sam said, hopping into his truck that stood too far up from the ground naturally. "I'm taking you home, homie?"

"Home, homes." I agreed.

"You know, this country music is the kind of stuff people complain about." I was saying as Sam drove me back to the estate.

"You're the kind of person people complain about." Sam retorted.

"Honestly, this sucks, its rubbish, absolutely dreadful…"

Sam flipped me off. "That's rich, coming from you. All you like is shitty R&B."

"Shitty R&B?" I asked, "You think it's all shitty. There aren't ranks of good and bad R&B here. It's all in or all out."

"Speaking of in and out, all they talk about is sex! It's pathetic, can't they sing about something else?"

I looked at him. "What's bad about that?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Odd, I never pegged you as a whore. But looks can be deceiving."

I promptly hit him. "I'm not a whore, you butt. I haven't even…anyway, sex isn't bad. The way its depicted in R&B songs makes the act seem beautiful. I mean—sure there's a lot of hype built into the act, but that's not the special part, the special part is…why are you looking at me like that?"

"Oh nothing, I'm just going back and forth between wondering if you're a closet slut or a confused virgin."

"You're a prick."

"We're not talking about me though, are we? Besides, there's nothing 'special' about it. It can be enjoyable, and even fun, depending on who it's with."

My eyes rolled. "You can say this how?"

"Well," Sam said, his chest puffing. "I'm experienced. I know what I'm talking about."

"Having sex with one guy doesn't count, Sam."

He glared at me before muttering about his only friend was a bitch.

"That makes two of us," I smiled, before remembering that was the last thing I said to Santana. I shook my head.

"Just the two of us," I sang. "We can make it if we try, just the two of us..."

Sam laughed. "What are you singing?"

Shrugging, I answered, "No idea. It's just something I've heard on TV years ago. I think it's a 60's or 70's song. Sounds disco-hippie-esque."

"Fucking weirdo."

"At least I'm fucking."

"Yeah right," He said, "You say these things, but we're together 24/7. How can you get laid with me around all the time? Unless you're one of those rape-guys-when-their-asleep types."

"You'd like that wouldn't you?"

"How do all of our conversations keep turning to this?" He pondered.

"Well I'm bored, and your poor peen has been frying in the Sahara desert."

"No really, we've never talked about it this much, or at all, until now. I mean…" He trailed off, staring at something in the distance.

That's when I realized where we were. We were just approaching my house, closer to the estate than I thought in this short amount of time. In the wrap around driveway, there was a car. And it didn't look familiar. Probably belonged to us but that wasn't helping my recollection.

"Who's that?" He asked.

"I dunno. Mom probably got a new Beemer. Or invited someone over with a Beemer, or dad got the new car. Or we've always had it and I don't notice anything. The possibilities are endless."

"No, I meant, who's that as in, who's that in the car."

I craned my next to figure out, but I couldn't see who it was. "Get closer to the car. Park beside it—its fine Sam—fine, you don't have to park beside it—quit bitching, you're not gonna get in trouble—I can't see—hurry up!"

We slid up the driveway. As we finally got within staring distance, I realized it wouldn't matter whether we hid behind a shrub or honked the car horn. The person was obviously in the own world, yacking on the phone. He was a man, with handsome features and a handsome stance. It bothered me.

I turned to Sam. "We have to go in the house."

"We?"

"Yes we you prick. I can't go in alone now!"

"Why?"

"My mom could be cheating on my dad, that's why."

"There's no guarantee your mom is unfaithful Mercedes. That man could be disclosing important information and we're snooping around like idiots." Sam said.

"People are always guilty until proven innocent Sam, remember that. This is what we're going to do…"

The plan was simple. We were supposed to pull out of the driveway and drive around the block. Once parked, Sam and I were going to walk back to my house and sneak in through my bedroom window. Sneaking in was the only way to see what was really happening. If my mom was doing something despicable, I was going to charge at her without remorse. If it was fine and all was well, I'd sneak away and come in the house through the front door like a normal person. Sam was with me for moral support.

"I don't understand why I have to be here for this." Sam complained as we walked back to my house.

"I need you with me for this. I can't face the unknown by myself. I don't want to, and you know if the tables were turned I'd do the same for you."

Sam nodded and reached down for my hand. I felt my heart swell in a way that was far from platonic. Sam held my hand a lot more lately. Usually he only did it when I needed comfort. Now he held my hand randomly, and it made me dizzy with hope. I wish I had someone to rant this to, but I didn't anymore.

Santana was gone, or she was around and wasn't speaking to me. I couldn't particularly blame her either. The last time we spoke I was a raging bitch. But something about her silence irked me. Usually when Santana and I fought, we wouldn't talk for a few days and then we'd mutually apologize and everything was back to normal. If our friendship was as important as I thought, she wouldn't be giving me the incessant silent treatment. It wasn't fair. She can be a bitch to me on the regular, but if I snap one time we're done?

It wasn't right how she was so damn selfish. And yeah, I haven't made an effort to call or show my concern, but I was done groveling for her friendship. We haven't spoken to each other in a month, and oddly I was okay with that.

I was also okay with Kurt ignoring me. He kept me posted in developments with Santana when she decided to show her face around town randomly, but other than that he was distant. The last time we had a serious talk he said he was going to start making an honest attempt to setting goals for his future and NYADA and/or Julliard was a part of them. Ever since that spiel he's been so far up Rachel's ass it's gross to witness. He was selfish just like Santana. I had goals, I had ambitions. I loved performing arts and music just as much as he did. I was the one that had parents with connections, but who does he flock to? Rachel Berry?

I loved them, Santana and Kurt. They were my best friends when I needed them and great shields when I wanted it, however time makes people change. They left me just like I always knew they would. In all honesty I never expected them to stay. Everyone always leaves.

I know one day Sam will leave too. He's too nice and funny and cute and stable to stay with me. But while I have him now I want him to be with me at all times. I know I'm holding him back from pretty girls like Quinn and popular guys like Puck, but I don't care. He'll leave me soon enough I already know. I don't care if I'm selfish right now.

"What are we going to do if we're caught?" Sam asked me now.

"I'll be the one to take the blame. You just run to my room and slip out the window."

"That's not a very manly thing to do."

I cut my eyes over at him. "Quit thinking with your testicles look at the situation logically. My mom's the senator. There's no glory in being busted by someone that important."

"I'm starting to think I shouldn't even be doing this, Cedes." Sam admitted.

I squeezed his hand and walked in front of him so we stopped. "Don't say things like that. I'm sorry for being rude earlier. I'm stressed about this too, okay? That's why I need you with me."

"Alright, fine. But this plan better work."

I learned later that night that nothing ever works out the way you think it will.

"Sam for God's sake you're stepping on my heels." I whispered harshly as we crept through my hallway to where I heard my mother talking.

Sam sighed exasperatedly. "Well fuck, it's not like I can just walk normally in this house. We're eavesdropping, remember?" I turned my head around to glare at him.

We walked to the end of the hallway before I stopped. Mom was loud enough for me to hear from the living room all the way up to where we were. I know they were downstairs because mom was turning down the volume on the TV. I could hear her talking, but it wasn't panting sighs or rushed sentiments. They were talking about Santana.

"This sounds bad." She was saying to that man I saw sitting in my driveway.

"I don't want to jump to conclusions, but it's usually a lost cause in these cases. The police don't investigate for longer than a few days before calling it quits. And there's only so much we can do."

I hold my breath, not believing what I heard. Not realizing what I'm hearing. Mom keeps talking. "She's not…the police are still in the process of investigating what happened. They didn't find her body, so there's a great possibility she's just hiding."

The barrel of bad news man sighs. "Yes, we've been over that already Mrs. Jones. That seems to be the only silver lining of hope. The detectives are about done with this case. She could be somewhere dead, and we may never find her. We don't waste time on juvenile delinquents when there are bigger fish to fry. For kids like her dead or alive doesn't make much difference. She could be alive somewhere drinking underage and breaking laws, or she could be dead somewhere from alcohol poisoning. And we know she hasn't been to school for a whole month. There's no way she was even going to graduate on time with her class."

I feel Sam tense from behind. I cover up my mouth and count to ten, then to one hundred.

"You talk as if you're speaking of the deceased." My mom says.

"She probably is deceased, Senator. Explain to me why you needed this information to begin with? Do you know anything about the night she went missing?"

"Of course not," Mom snaps, "I don't have time to be keeping tabs on Santana Lopez. I needed this information so it can be obscured. My daughter has been pretty fragile lately, and Santana is the cause of it. I know they haven't been talking for over a month, so if something did happen Mercedes can't know. My election is in a couple of weeks and if Mercedes caught wind of this she'd definitely relapse."

"So you don't want this in local newspapers or on TV?" He asked.

"Exactly."

I turn away from the staircase and try to make it back to my room in one piece. I'm trembling so badly Sam has to hold me the entire way there. With his strength I manage to close the door and sit on my bed before falling apart. Sam's rubbing my back and it helps a little, but I'm steadily breaking down. We listen to the wind blow. I lie down.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"I have scars. I have seriously deep rooted issues. But I don't want to think about me anymore, so tell me, why were you in anger management? You have scars too, right?"

Sam sighed, moving to lie down beside me. "You're sure you want to hear this right now?

"It can't be worse than what I expect."

He shrugged. "It gets pretty ugly."

"Drugs?"

"No." He adjusts himself and is now lying on his back.

"Well what is it?"

Sam fidgeted. I rolled my eyes. "Sam, tell me."

"Everything?"

"Everything."

He takes a breath and shifts around more. "There's this family," he starts. "Two parents, three kids, two nice stable incomes. They lived in a two story house. Add one year of bad luck and a worse economy. Subtract the two stable incomes and two story house. Divide that by three kids plus two adults. That leaves you with nothing but bills right?

"We picked up what was left of our belongings that wasn't pawned or sold and lived in a hotel room. Mom and dad looked for jobs like maniacs and I worked at a nearby pizzeria like one. They didn't find jobs for almost a whole year. How did we continue to pay for that hotel room? Minimum wage couldn't cover the costs of food and clothes and a hotel room, so what did I do?

"My dyslexia was kicking me in the ass that year. I had tutoring practically every day and it wasn't helping. One day I was walking to work from school and a woman stopped me. She asked if I was model. I said no. She said I should come by Abercrombie in the mall one day and talk to her about becoming a model because it paid well. She wasn't lying; it paid extremely well to stand around shirtless outside a store. One day while I was outside Abercrombie modeling, another woman approached me. She told me if I modeled for her I could make ten times the amount in one hour than what I make at Abercrombie in a week. But I had to be a legal adult. I was only sixteen then, so I lied. Because who wouldn't?

"That woman lied about modeling. She didn't lie about the money though. She wasn't a modeling agent and I should've stayed at Abercrombie. That woman was recruiting guys to work at her stripping club."

I gasped. Sam coughed uncomfortably, but I knew he was going to keeping telling his story, so I didn't say anything.

"That first night I seriously considered leaving the club and never coming back, but I was already there. It was okay until women started paying me at the club to give them lap dances. I only knew how to body roll, and I didn't even have a stage name. It was beyond humiliating and degrading. I was a disgraceful human being and I slowly started to hate myself. But the money was good, so I stayed.

"The last night I worked at the club was the worst. A woman was paying for a lap dance like usual, and she told me for a few hundreds she wanted me to fuck her in her car. I did. I remember her name because I lost my virginity to her. Her name was Elizabeth. Despite my despondency she enjoyed herself, so I got my money. As I was leaving her car to go back in the club, I cut my arm on a broken mug in one of her cup holders. It felt amazing."

I felt Sam sit up so I sat up too. He raised a sleeve on his hoodie and showed me the fading scars on the underside of his arm. The first few marks in his skin were short like claw scratches, but the ones further down were longer and still light pink. I looked at him and reached out to touch them. He didn't pull away. "I started self-harming that night. Cutting hurt was a different brand of hurt. Cutting made it easier to forget about having my life and my dignity and my body stolen from me. It made it easier to not care.

"I stopped coming to the club after that, and the results were cataclysmic. I stopped working completely for a long time, to try and get my act together. No one knew I stripped, so when the money stopped coming in they thought I quit Abercrombie. Dad hated me for it. He said I didn't have any work ethic and I needed to start thinking about the family more. My father, who was becoming deadbeat and wouldn't work part time somewhere to put food on the table. Though I was the one without work ethic.

"After that I decided that I was done with my father for a while. But one day after school he started yelling at me to get my old job back because we were running out of funds, and I lost it. I punched his lights out. I ran away for a few days and when I came back, dad told me that he got a new job in Ohio and they were leaving. Dad said the only way that I could live with my family again was to take anger management classes, so I did. Right after that senior year started, and now I'm here with you."

I stared at Sam, amazed. Here I was, acting like a complete drama queen, and Sam's been through hell and back. "So they don't know?"

"No."

"Does anyone know?"

"No, only you." He said.

I flung my arms around him. "Thank you for telling me. I don't think of you any another way, Sam. I'm not ashamed of you and I'm not repulsed by what you've done. I love you all the same."

Sam wiped away tears I didn't feel fall down my face. I couldn't help but cry over Sam's story, because he still tenacious and hasn't fallen apart like I do daily.

"Say that again."

"What part?"

"That you love me."

I smiled. "I love you Sam."

"I love you Mercedes."

He hugged me and slipped off my bed. "I still have to leave, but we'll figure Santana out later, okay? Just go to bed."

"Okay." I sat up and stared at him as he climbed outside my window.

"What?" He asked, grinning.

"Say it again."

"I love you Mercedes." He whispered from outside.

I got up and closed my window. "I love you too." The moment I turned around, mom was closing my bedroom door behind her. I stepped back in surprise.

"Mercedes," Mom said sternly. "We have to talk."

I didn't really proof read, so yeah...

Thanks for all the reviews last chapter! I hope you enjoyed this one, and please review!