I rolled over in my bed, regretting the copious amount of tequila I had consumed the night before, which was now causing my head to feel like someone was banging a hammer against it. Even the pillow over my ears couldn't stop the banging and I reached haphazardly towards the nightstand for a bottle of aspirin. The clock read 7:12 am, and that's when I realized that the sound was not coming from my head, someone was at my door at this ungodly hour.

Wrapping a blanket around myself, and shielding my eyes from the painful light, I padded through the apartment to the door, all the while cursing the beast who woke me from my drunken slumber. Without bothering to look through the peephole, I swung open the door and snarled at the two bow tie clad men behind it. Bow ties. Fucking bow ties before the sun had fully risen.

"Wonder twins, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Can we come in?" Kurt asked, almost pushing past me.

"No, I want to stand in the hallway naked and be provoked by your bow ties. Just get inside. One of you make me some coffee if you insist on waking me at this hour."

"Santana, are you still drunk?" Blaine accused.

"Fuck if I know. I'm still sleeping and pretending one of you has made me a cup of coffee."

"Here." Kurt shoved his own coffee at me. "Just drink this. We need to talk to you."

"Oh, I thought you were just here for my hospitality. Silly me. Speak."

The gays eyed each other uneasily, each imploring the other to speak. I was ready to bash their heads together, let them get a taste of my own throbbing feeling when Blaine finally opened his mouth.

"Sam is dead."

Sam is dead? Sam is dead. That can't even be possible. My wishes never come true, and besides, I didn't wish him dead, so much as to never have existed. Kurt and Blaine both had red ringed eyes, this wasn't some kind of joke. But still, Sam and I hadn't spoken in six years, not since our musical duel over Britt which ended with her choosing him and me living with Kurt and Berry in their creepy musical theater themed apartment. Why was this some urgent news that I needed to be woken at the ass crack of dawn for?

"And..." I pierced Blaine with my stare.

"Well, we are going to Lima. Like now. Put some clothes on."

"I'm sorry, we? There is no way in hell I'm going to Lima for some cracked out, trout convention funeral. Sam has been dead to me since 2012, news flash, this doesn't impact my life."

"Whoa, Santana, that's the tequila talking." Kurt admonished.

"He was your friend. And more important than that, we, and you especially, need to be there for Brittany."

"It's not happening. I haven't spoken to Brittany in three years, I think she will manage without me. The rest of you can go to Lima and sing Sarah McLachlan songs and pretend you're all still besties, but I'm staying here."

"Could you be any more selfish right now? Sam is dead. Did you need me to repeat that? I know you've had a rough few years, but you need to pull yourself together. God, take a look at yourself, you're a mess." Kurt glared at me.

"Get out. Now." I shoved the two out and slammed the door.

Gulping down the rest of the coffee, I pulled a new bottle of tequila out of the cabinet and took two shots. Irish funeral, right? My fury was momentarily abated and I sat down on the couch to collect myself. Go to Lima and comfort Brittany, right. Those two were as dumb as they look. Sure, it was sad that Sam was dead. But it was sad for the people who were in his life, not the one person who never let go of her hate for him. They all know me better than that, I'm no hypocrite, and going there would be the most hypocritical thing I'd ever done.

It was nearly 2:00 when I woke up again, after having passed out on the couch. I reached for the phone, bracing myself for the influx of messages. Seventeen texts from Rachel, demanding I reconsider, two from Kurt, calling me selfish again, and one full of sappy bullshit from Finn. Too late guys, see you when I see you.

I looked around my apartment, a decent size for Gramercy Park, with the furniture I paid Kurt to procure after hearing him complain about my Ikea futon for the last time. Things were finally looking up for me. I'd turned my demons into money (and a hell of a lot of it) by writing music, why was I going to turn old stones?

Five Days Later:

The hot water in the shower rained down on me as I halfheartedly hummed the new song I was working on, pretending to care that I had a deadline to make. I was crying, I'd spent the better half of the week crying or drunk, mostly both. This Sam thing was hitting me in a way I hadn't expected, and I was worried sick about Britt. No one told me how he died, and I didn't ask. Actually, I couldn't ask, since my phone had basically been radio silenced since I decided not to go back to Lima. Some friends I had.

"Santana!" shrieked the most obnoxious voice in the world.

I flung open the shower curtain to find a very uncomfortable looking Rachel Berry standing in my bathroom.

"God Berry, if you wanted to see me naked, you could have just asked. But I didn't strike you for that type."

"Please..." She stammered, throwing a towel at me. "Get dressed."

"Oh I'm so sorry you don't want to see me naked after walking in on me in the shower."

"Cut it out Santana, we need to talk."

Ten minutes later, I was in my pajamas standing at the kitchen counter pouring myself a glass of wine with Rachel staring at me.

"Wine?" I asked.

"No, I'm good. Pretty sure you'll drink enough for the both of us." She muttered.

"What was that, Berry?"


"That's what I thought. Now why are you here? I assumed I was voted off the island after I made a decision that you all didn't like."

"Santana." Rachel sighed. "Like it or not, you're like my sister. You stuck by me during a lot of screwed up stuff, and I'm here because I'm worried about you. Pissed, but also worried."

I swallowed my wine quickly and poured another glass. Rachel hadn't changed much since high school. She was still preachy and borderline intolerable, a Tony award hadn't changed that. But she was the closest thing I had to family in New York, so I put up with it in exchange for the moments where I could actually stomach being around her. Plus, she had been there for me when I needed her most, so she wasn't a total waste of space in my life.

"I'm fine. Why aren't you people having a Britt-tervention? Her boyfriend is the one who died."

"And you're the one who hasn't even asked how. Or asked how Brittany is. For someone who's spent the past six years in love with her, you'd think you would care just a little. You should have been there."

"Well I wasn't, but I'll ask your stupid questions. How did Sam die? How is Brittany? Are you happy?" I barked.

"Car accident. Brittany is dealing. She was in the car too, you know. She walked away with a couple of fractured ribs, then went and buried Sam."

I struggled to keep my breathing even. Britt was in the car too. She could have died. Really, I didn't want to care. But it was Brittany, the one person I would always love. The best person I'd ever known. Rachel's eyes were trained on me, and I avoided blinking so the tears wouldn't spill. Grabbing the wine bottle, I added more to my glass and drew in a large gulp. Instinctively, Rachel grabbed the bottle.

"Enough, Santana. I've watched you drown yourself for the past three years. Just. Stop."

"Yes mother Rachel. God. Why can't you just let things be? Not everyone has the charmed life you do. Not all of us can ease our menial pain by snuggling up with our freakishly large boyfriends and pretending to be a tortured soul on stage."

That did it. Rachel picked up her bag and walked out the door, still holding my bottle of wine.

"When you're ready to get some help, call me." She yelled.