A/N: The next chapter will cover Santana's account of how she found Rachel. I hope you are all enjoying so far. XO-Chrmdpoet

Chapter Four: The Hardest Things

After what felt like hours, I finally managed to pull myself together and drop into an empty seat with my body still pressed snugly into Quinn's. I needed her support. I felt like I had just barely been holding it together all night and at any minute I might just fall to pieces, so I held onto her like a damn life raft and prayed that we could get through this together for both our sakes and for Rachel's. The detective handed me a tissue as she sat down across from us and pulled a small notepad from her pocket so that she could record my account of what had happened.

Quinn was trembling next to me and I could only imagine the riot that must be raging inside her mind as she had no clue as to what had happened or whether or not Rachel was even alive, because I hadn't said a damn thing and the only clues she had to go on were my blood-soaked clothes and hands and my gut-wrenching sobs. She held it together, though, ever the rock of strength she had always been even in the face of her own daunting trials and damn had she been through a storm of them. Quinn Fabray was the strongest person I had ever known, and in that moment I was so thankful that it was her that I had there to lean on and not someone else like Kurt, because as much I love that kid, he was always just as dramatic if not more so than Rachel, and I just couldn't handle something like that right now. I was a mess in my own right, and that was all the mess I could deal with; and Quinn…well, even if she was a mess on the inside, she wasn't on the surface. On the surface, she was a fucking warrior.

She informed the detective that she had notified Rachel's dads that Rachel was in the hospital because that was all the information she had to give them, and that they were going to catch the earliest flight to New York. She said that they would probably like to talk to the detective as well as the doctors, to which the woman only nodded before she turned her gaze to me. "Perhaps we should speak privately?" she questioned, glancing to Quinn, and I quickly shook my head and said, "No, she's family. She's Rachel's family and mine, so it's okay. Rachel would want her here." And I meant it, every word. I knew that Rachel would want Quinn there with me, and I knew that I needed her there with me, so that's just the way it was going to be, and I didn't give a damn if the detective agreed with that or not. She seemed to contemplate my words for a moment longer before finally nodding in consent, which had both Quinn and I sighing our relief.

"Okay, let's get started, shall we?" she asked as she looked at me with soft, kind eyes and waited for me to nod my agreement. When I did, she said, "Now I know that this is very difficult for you, but it's extremely important that you tell me as much as you can, sparing no details, because the more you can tell me, the better chance we have of catching the guy who did this." I nodded again, though my stomach churned at the thought of that fucking bastard, whoever he was, and at realizing that I was about to have to relive everything that had happened and not only on my own, but in front of Quinn, and I knew that this was going to be just as hard for her to hear as it was going to be for me to say it, but I had to do this. We had to do this for Rachel, because as heartbroken as I was in that moment, there was also a fucking rage unlike anything I'd ever felt in my life brewing in my gut and I wanted to hunt down that piece of shit and burn him alive. Rachel deserved justice, and if I could help make that happen, then I'd do it. I'd do anything.

"Do you think…?" I asked before she could begin questioning me, but I hesitated because I was terrified of hearing a negative answer, but I had to know, so I continued, "…is there a good chance that you could catch him? I mean…did you get enough evidence from the, the…" I tried to say it, but I couldn't. The words "rape kit" just fucking refused to touch my tongue and part of me was extremely thankful for that, because I choked harshly enough at the mere thought of the words, so I didn't even want to know how I would react to actually speaking them aloud.

She seemed to understand though as she smiled sadly at me and nodded before saying, "The tests are very helpful, and they most often make all the difference in the world with cases like this. With seminal fluid present, the chances of capture and conviction are much higher as DNA is just about the best evidence we can ever hope for; so in this case, our chances are very good."

As soon as the words, "seminal fluid," filtered into the air, I felt Quinn go rigid beside me and heard her breath hitch, because she had basically just been clued in to what had happened. I glanced at her from my peripherals and could see silent tears spilling down her cheeks. I squeezed her hand as my guts clenched and my heart screamed, and I hoped that I could be a strength of sorts for her as she was for me, because hearing that your best friend has been raped is one of the most difficult things a person can ever experience.

"But any further information that you can provide," the detective continued, "will only increase our chances, so I encourage you to be as thorough as possible, but before we start, I have to ask; if an arrest is made, would you be willing to stand trial and testify as to everything you experienced tonight?" I immediately answered that I would. Hell yes I would stand up in any court in front of any judge and say whatever the hell I needed to say to put that bastard away. She smiled and surprisingly thanked me before saying, "Okay, if you're ready then, can you state your name for the record, please?"

I felt Quinn's hand slip into mine and squeeze. I squeezed back in gratitude for her support and said, "Santana Lopez."

The detective jotted it down in her notebook while asking, "And what is your relation to the victim?" My stomach churned again at hearing this woman refer to Rachel as a victim. It only further solidified everything in my mind, and I had to swallow the jagged lump quivering fiercely in my throat. It went down like acid, burning and aching the entire way before I was able to choke out, "She's my roommate."

"Okay, Santana, why don't you tell me what you can about the events leading up to, during, and after the attack?" she asked, and I could only stare at her for several long, silent moments, because my tongue just felt swollen in my mouth and I couldn't force it to move, couldn't make it produce words as my head instantly swam with the most haunting images I had ever seen in my life; images I knew would follow me forever. I just wanted to crawl into a fucking hole and disappear, but instead, I had to sit there and talk about it. I had to remember. I had to relive, and that was almost harder than it was to actually live it the first time. But Quinn's hand was squeezing mine again, offering me support and encouragement and strength, and finally I forced myself to speak, closing my eyes and going back…back to earlier, when everything just fell the hell apart.