I felt like I was running in sand. Do you know that feeling? Where you know you have to move, get up, continue, but you just… you just can't? Those were most days. Days that turned into nights that turned into days and it never stopped. I kept trying to give up. I ignored the knocks on the door. The looks. The phone calls. My parents tried. So did my friends. Everyone tried. I wish that I could say they helped me. That they saved me or at least saved what was left. But I didn't even have the strength to lie to them. I had nothing left.

Life is a series of moments. Until it isn't anymore. And then it becomes an effort to just want to survive it. Maybe at one point mine had been spectacular. Having only the one, I didn't really have room to judge. People said I was lucky. At times, maybe I was. I don't remember feeling lucky when I was younger. No. Younger me wasn't very lucky.

But I was special.

I was that girl. The one that everyone picked on. The one who didn't know how to dress. Or the right things to say. I was awkward. Foolish. Arrogant. Eager. I wanted more than anything to fit in. To be loved. I spent hours wondering why people didn't see me. Why they didn't care. Why they were so mean.

When I left Lima I promised myself no looking back. I was finished. Even after senior year. After Quinn's accident. The failed wedding. Prom Queen. Nationals. None of it was enough to erase that feeling of not belonging. That feeling of being different. I used to pretend it was because I was better. In some respects, I was. In others…

…And New York. It was a dream. It was where I wanted to be. I finally fit in. Oh I know, I know that I gloss over it now. The grueling hours. The failed auditions. The tired muscles. The sore throats. There were nights when I felt like none of it was worth it. And nights that I didn't want to end.

Memories of Lima were wrapped in the phones calls from my fathers. And the very real presence of Kurt. …And Santana. No one was more surprised than me. Though Kurt and I formed a friendship senior year that I knew would last, I'd never for once thought that Santana would become an integral part of that equation.

It worked though. In a way we were compliments. Opposites. Her crass demeanor and my demure innocence always shocked my friends from school. They didn't see the real us. The ways we were so much alike. The jokes we secretly made at other people's expense. The laughs we shared over something stupid the other one had said. Once you got past the cursing and the eye rolls, Santana was a lot like me. Afraid of the past. Ready for the future.

Kurt's eye for fashion took him in another direction. He was always afraid of being typecast at "that gay." But one Costume Designing class and he had a calling. Kurt's success came first. Neither of us argued with him that it wasn't the right fit. It definitely was.

When Santana finished her first year of residency, I landed my first role on Broadway. By the time she'd graduated, I had two Tonys under my belt. Kurt – one. We were happy. A little hodgepodge family of three wayward friends. We had boyfriends. Girlfriends. But we were so busy. No one was the right fit. We were so critical of each other's choices.

"She dresses like my grandmother."

"Damn. Rainbows are too straight for him."

"Every heard the word gender confused?"

We weren't jealous. Just picky. And so busy. It was easier just being the three of us. Every once in a while someone would reminiscence. We'd be sitting around, having a bottle of wine, and someone would bring them up. "The Ones We Left Behind," Santana would call them. The rest of them.

"Finn said Brittany moved to L.A.," Kurt ventured one night.

I held my breath. He'd obviously had more to drink than I originally thought. I looked at the bottle on the table. Was that the second one?

"Hmm," Santana hummed. She swallowed her next drink slower.

I watched her. She was incredibly adept at holding a straight face. I sometimes wondered why she didn't go into acting as well.

"What is she doing?" I finally asked him. He was obviously waiting on permission to finish.

"Dancing. Back up vocals. From what he said, she's hit the big time." He smiled softly and swirled his wine. "She deserves it," he whispered.

Santana nodded but didn't speak. She didn't need to. She and Kurt shared that "one that got away," feeling. Brittany and Blaine were the yin to the yang, so to speak. They used to think Finn was mine. It was hard to be wistful about him though. So they stopped thinking that.

Blaine lived in San Francisco. He was an activist. I was never really certain for what. All of our information came second hard. Usually from Finn. Being a stepbrother had its advantages and allowed Kurt a tentative link to the past that Santana and I didn't have. We felt luckier that way. When news came that Blaine was marrying someone, Kurt spent four days in bed. Only my tears and Santana's threats of violence made him finally get up. We took a vacation. Pretended we were fine.

Finn had stayed in Lima. He worked with Kurt's dad. It was a good fit for him. When he got married, I drank a toast because I was sincerely happy for him. That was the night the two of them finally understood I didn't share their nostalgia. We didn't speak about it again.

Finn lost track of a lot the Glee members. No one had heard from Mercedes in years. Sam either. Artie lived in Chicago but he didn't know why or with whom. Tina moved to Columbus after college and was teaching. Mike was a dance instructor in Dallas. Puck left Lima after senior year. The last Finn had heard, he'd married some girl that was into the "exotic arts." Kurt was too afraid to ask what that meant. Santana had explained to us anyway.

The night we found out about Quinn… that is one night I remember. If I were to be honest with myself, she was the one I always wondered about. I knew she'd graduated from Yale, but none of us had heard about her since. When Kurt brought her up that night, my mind flashed to a girl, the most beautiful girl I'd ever met, smiling up at me in a wheelchair. I don't know why that's the memory I always have first. Maybe it's what put her on equal ground. Maybe it was the only chance I had to look down into her eyes instead of up. But Quinn was always that girl. The sad one. I refused to remember the cheerleader. Like Santana, Cheerios and all that came with it was something I worked hard to forget.

After each run on stage, the three of us would get together at a familiar restaurant and celebrate. There was something satisfying with a show finally being over. I always felt light. Like there were still innocent possibilities in my life. I guess my exuberance at whatever accomplishment was catching because it became a habit of ours. When my latest show ended, we met for drinks and dinner like every other time. That particular night, Santana and I came in together. Kurt was waiting. His face was decidedly different than what we were used to.

"What?" Santana semi-growled, sitting down across from him.

I sat down beside her.

"I talked to Finn."

To be honest that meant nothing to either of us. He was always talking to Finn. Usually it was about their parents or Finn's son. His wife had given birth the year before. I even had a picture on my phone. He was adorable and reminded me of what I could only imagine was a joyful Finn. It made me happy.

"Everything okay with Lucas?" I asked.

Kurt nodded. "He's fine."

We were distracted by the waiter and placed a drink order before continuing.

"So what is it?" Santana asked, after he'd poured our wine. "You look like you've seen a ghost." She studied his face. "If you tell me you saw a ghost, I'm out. I'm tired of you two and you're obsession with that crazy ass lady on television. No one can talk to the dead."

I rolled my eyes at her. "Did you see a ghost?" I smiled at him.

He shook his head. "No. No… No ghost. Well not really anyway."

He was being obtuse. I hated obtuse. "Well are we supposed to play twenty questions or are you going to tell us what he said?"

He nodded, almost preoccupied. I hoped it wasn't something else about Blaine. Or Brittany. Maybe I was being selfish, but I wanted to enjoy the night. Not watch while one, or both of them, drank their sorrows away.

Santana frowned. "Are you about to ruin our night? Cause seriously, if you are I'm ordering something stronger than wine."

He shook his head. "No. Not ruin it… it's just…" He took a deep breath. "Finn saw Sylvester yesterday."

He had our attention.

"He said she mentioned Quinn," he watched both of our faces. "And Brittany."

Neither of us spoke.

"Apparently they both live in L.A." He took a drink. "Together."

He let that sink in. Gone was the Kurt who would revel in that kind of news. He almost looked afraid.

"Together?" Santana whispered.

Kurt shook his head dramatically. "No! Not like together, together. Just together. Like us. But you know, in the same house."

Oh. He was saying that they'd stayed friends. "That's good," I finally said.

"Why's Quinn there?" Santana asked. "In L.A.?"

"Sue said that she finished her grad degree at Stanford. She's teaching English at UCLA."

I wasn't surprised that Quinn was a teacher. Or a professor. Whatever. Santana was nodding. Apparently she wasn't either.

"Is that it?" She asked him.

He nodded back. "That's all she told him. They're both single though," he dropped. For some reason he was looking at me and not Santana.

"Good for them," she muttered.

I chose not to speak.

Maybe it was our faces, but he moved on to a lighter topic and regaled us with the new intern he'd received. Santana teased him about being a cougar. I smiled. We all pretended like we weren't thinking about someone else.

And that was fine.

After I recorded my first album, I landed a role in my first feature film. It was a supporting part but I was proud. Most of the filming took place in Toronto but when we filmed the dailies in L.A., Santana took a leave and came with me. We spent a few weeks there, sightseeing and just being silly tourists. I wasn't as famous then. I could go anywhere outside of New York and not be afraid of the photographers. A few times I almost suggested looking them up. But Santana never mentioned it. To be honest, I was afraid too. I told myself it was fear of her getting hurt. I really did love her. It was an easy lie.

The movie did fair at the box office. I received some nice reviews, but was happy to be back in New York. I felt out of sorts in L.A. Too much sun. Too much driving.

My second offer was for an independent project that was filming in London. The role was not something I was used to, but I was in love with the script. And my character died. And no one did dying better than Rachel Barbra Berry. So I took the role.

I loved London. It was just so… so different. The people, the history, everything about it made me content. The schedule was grueling though. The scenes were harrowing. I left the sets feeling drained and lost and often found myself wandering into local pubs looking for something.

I met Joshua in a pub on Fleet Street. I'd just finished filming one of those never ending emotional scenes. Though I loved the cast and the crew, once we filmed a scene like that we found ourselves needing to be alone. So when he approached me that night, I was intent on ignoring him.

Alcohol changes your perspective.

I never did catch his last name. And if you wanted to know the complete truth, I probably wouldn't even be able to identify him in a line up. I just remember that he had a sweet smile and a deep voice. He didn't know who I was and I liked that. So I took him back to my hotel. It wasn't the first time I had found myself in such a situation, but it was definitely the one time that everything changed.

I spent four more weeks in London. We covered the dailies there. The first time I realized that something was amiss was the plane ride home. I chalked up my sickness to turbulence and took a Valium Santana had prescribed. She knew I hated flying.

I was back in New York and settling back into a routine of sorts was when I realized the truth.

Looking back, I can only imagine how terrifying my voicemails actually were. Though I'd changed dramatically since high school, my penchant for drama in certain situations couldn't be ignored. Whatever I said must have scared the dickens out of both of them because they were rushing through my door not thirty minutes after I called them.

I'd been to the drugstore after I called and my suspicions were confirmed by the time they got there.

"Who died?" Santana yelled into the apartment.

Kurt was right behind her. "Rachel! Are you okay?! We couldn't even understand you!"

I was sitting on the floor of the bathroom. Santana rushed in and stopped cold when she saw the test on the ground in front of me. Kurt ran into her back. "What is it?!" He yelled behind her.

She shook her head, frowning. "Ay dios mio," she whispered.

Kurt peered around her. "Oh my god!"

I started crying then. I cried until I wanted to vomit. I cried until I felt their arms around me. The three of us sat on the floor of my bathroom and we cried together.

"Ah, cariño, it'll be okay," she finally whispered, brushing my hair out of my eyes. "I promise."

Kurt nodded. "We'll figure it out."

I didn't trust my voice at this point. All of the crying… I was worried that I had actually damaged my vocal cords. I nodded instead and let them lead me to the living room. Only after we were all three huddled on the couch did they speak again.

"Who?" Santana finally asked.

"His name was Joshua. I don't even know his last name. We just met one night at a bar and had a few drinks." I sighed. "Or more than a few. A lot of drinks. We had a lot of drinks. And then… we were in my hotel and… he was gone when I woke up." I closed my eyes. "He was blond. Canadian, I think. I'm pretty sure he said he was there on business or something, but I honestly don't really remember much else…" I trailed off. I was embarrassed. I swallowed to keep from crying again. "What am I going to do?"

They shared a glance. "What do you want to do?" Kurt asked pointedly.

I didn't answer at first. I wanted them to tell me. Big decisions were not my forte and every time I'd ever had to make one I'd consulted the both of them. "What should I do?"

The second glance they shared was pained.

Santana spoke first. "Look Rach, we…" she trailed off. She brushed my hair off my forehead and tucked it behind my ear. "We can't…" she was struggling to speak. That hurt more than anything. If she couldn't think of what to say… What was I going to do? She looked at Kurt.

"We can't decide this for you, Rachel," he finally answered.

She nodded. "But we can support you. If you want to… if you want to keep it… well we're not kids anymore. You're almost twenty-eight. No one would say anything."

Kurt nodded with her. "And if you want to… to not keep it… we'll support that too." He patted my head. "Whatever you decide, we'll support you."

I felt the familiar knot in my throat rise again. I wanted to fight the tears but when I felt them spill I decided it was pointless. I needed to cry. Santana wrapped her arms tighter around me.

We sat together, not really speaking, not really even moving. I kept my head buried against her shoulder and I could feel Kurt rubbing my back. I forgot sometimes how lucky I actually was to have them. When I felt her breath hitch, I ignored it. That was what friends did.

After a few minutes, I raised my head to look at them. "I think I want… I think I want to keep it," I whispered so quietly, I wasn't sure they heard me.

They both nodded though. I closed my eyes and put my head back against her. Kurt scooted closer and laid his head against my shoulder. He was singing something so softly; I didn't even understand the words, but it made the knot go away and that, combined with Santana's kiss on the top of my head, made me finally feel safe. And at some point I fell asleep.

Those days, though terrifying and unreal at times, are actually fond memories. Those were the days when I felt safe and loved. Those were the days when Santana and Kurt, my best friends, could make it all go away.

God only knows how I longed for those days.

The third knock on my bedroom door had me groaning into my pillow. "Please go away," I whispered out harshly. My voice was raw. I no longer cared if I damaged it. I no longer cared about anything.

The door opened anyway. The light from the hallway burned my eyes even though they were closed. The light from the shades being thrown open scalded them.

"Rachel, you've got to get out of bed." It was Santana this time. Her voice was clipped and she was standing above me, her hands on her hips. She had sunglasses pushed on top of her head. For some reason it was the first time I noticed how much older she looked. I swallowed down the realization that I knew why.

"What about 'go away' do you not understand?" I mumbled, turning my face back into my pillow.

I could vaguely hear Kurt in the front of the house. He was talking to my daddy. My dad had to fly back to Lima to take care of some business with the house. They were apparently putting it on the market and moving out to California. Everyone was moving here. I wanted them all to just leave.

"Go away. Go home. Go back to New York or Ohio or whatever. Just go!" I sat up suddenly. The anger I was feeling resting comfortably on my face. "I don't want any of you fucking here!"

She stepped back at my use of such an expletive. I, of course, rarely used such crass language. But desperate times called for desperate measures and I couldn't very well die in this bed if they were going to continuously throw open my door and tell me to get up.

Her face changed then. Almost like a mask was pulled over it. And then I saw a flash of anger… a flash of Santana, the Sometimes HBIC, popping out to join me. She'd been missing since senior year of high school. I couldn't say I'd missed her.

"Berry! Get your scrawny ass up right now." She was almost growling. "If you think I'm going to sit here and watch you waste a fucking way, you're out of your goddamn mind." She ripped the blankets off my bed. "Get up," her voice had changed. She was pleading.

There was a time when that voice could get me to do some really stupid things. I can recall our little adventure that led us to Disneyland when I'd first moved out here. All of a sudden my heart clenched again. "Please," I whispered, closing my eyes. "Please go away, Santana. I just want to sleep."

She went to speak again but was interrupted by the singsong vibration of my doorbell. I groaned. I didn't want to see anyone else. Santana turned to look towards the door, mumbling, "who the hell could that be?" to herself.

"Whoever that is, please be so kind as to ask them to fuck off," I told her.

She shook her head but didn't say anything about my language. "You expecting someone?"

"Why yes. I was expecting my dinner guests. Do you think I look presentable?" I snarled.

"Cut the snark, babe." She frowned. "I'm tired of this smartass attitutude you've…" She cut herself off. I watched her face and followed her gaze to the door.

"Hi Rachel," I heard, but was finding it hard to believe. "Santana."

Brittany S. Pierce was standing in my doorway. And that explained the wide-eyed look my best friend was wearing.

Of course, my own was matching hers. Because standing behind, wringing her hands and looking at anywhere but us, was none other than Quinn Fabray.