• Smooth Criminal • Sebastian Smythe-BOOK ONE✔

f o r t y - s e v e n

-This should have a trigger warning-

Marina and Arabella were in the corridors, talking with Tina, Santana, Mercedes, and Sugar as Brittany walked up to them. "You guys, I just went to my first student council meeting, and I found out that we have another prom this year. So, as president, I need to come up with a theme. And I'm thinking, if we do alien abductions, we could set up cornfields and probing booths." Brittany explained to the group, getting mixed reactions from the girls.

As Coach Beiste walked past, Santana whistled lowly. "Aw, hell. Looks like Mr. Beiste went all Chris Brown on Mrs. Beiste-- What happened, Coach, Cooter put the smack-down on you 'cause you wouldn't let him be on top?" Mercedes, Sugar, Brittany, and Tina all laughed lightly at Santana's words. Marina and Arabella looked horrified.

"Santana, you don't joke about abuse." Marina stated sternly, frowning at the taller girl.

"Yeah, it's not something to just say lightly." Arabella agreed as Swim Coach Roz Washington made her way to the girls, her eyes on Santana.

"What did you just say?" The woman glanced to Santana, moving closer.

"Nothing. It was a joke." Santana shook her head.

"So, men hitting women is funny to you?" Roz Washington scoffed.

"Oh, please. We obviously don't think Beiste was hit by anybody. I mean, look at her, she's a wall." The girl responded, gesturing over to Coach Beiste.

"Let me tell you something. I'm Coach Roz Washington. I'm an Olympic Champion, and I do not suffer fools! Especially fools who think domestic violence is funny." She had her eyes on Santana as she spoke but glared at all of the girls.

"At least you two know it's not funny." She said to Marina and Arabella. "But still! I want your names." She then looked to Coach Beiste. "Shannon! Write these names down as placeholders."

First, she looked to Brittany. "Hatrack." Then Tina, "Asian Horror Movie." Mercedes. "Li'l Oprah." Then Sugar. "Rojo Caliente." Santana. "Salsa Caliente." Then Marina. "Scarface." The girl nodded in agreement, not even phased as the dark-skinned woman turned to Arabella. "Short blonde one."

"You're on my list now, girls. You just watch what happens next." The woman finished before sauntering off, the girls exchanging glances as she left.

When everyone was in the choir room, Puck stormed in, guitar strung around his shoulders as he began to angrily dance, sing, and play the instrument. Everyone moved back, in fear as people ran into the room, dancing and singing along with him before they ran back out. Everyone stared in shock when he finished, nobody moving before the boy stormed towards the exit of the choir room.

Santana, Brittany, Mercedes, Tina, Sugar, Arabella, and Marina had been told to stay behind, everyone else moving out of the choir room to their respective classes as the girls looked at Sue, Roz Washington, and Coach Beiste. The girls all sat closely together, except for Marina and Arabella who were shot a thankful look from Sue.

"Now I realize this room is America's number one destination for cheap, sappy moralizing, but your insensitive behaviour is about to subject you to a whole new level of preachiness." Sue began, looking blandly at the girls.

"Is this about the comment that I made in the hallway earlier?" Santana questioned.

"You bet your perfectly round ass it is." Roz nodded.

"Coach Sylvester, I hardly think you're one to preach on what we can and cannot joke about." Sugar said gently to Sue.

Santana nodded in agreement. "Yeah. You make fun of us all the time."

"Sandbags, I admit I can be a bit abrasive. And yes, I've fantasized about slapping each and every one of you square across the face with a sturdy, wet fish. But that doesn't mean you deserve it. No one deserves to get hit." Sue said sternly to the group.

Mercedes nodded, Marina speaking before she could. "Say it louder for the people in the back."

Mercedes spoke next, "Coach Sylvester, we already know that."

Tina immediately nodded. "Yeah, and none of our guys would ever do anything like that."

"And if they did, we'd just get the hell out." Mercedes added.

"Maybe not your guys," Arabella began, speaking with a tone of authority, "But some men are like that. Not only men, but women too. They're often too scared to speak up, too, Mercedes."

"I don't think the gravity of this is landing with you girls." Coach Beiste said softly.

"I think that not one of you understand what violence in a home really feels like." Roz Washington said.

Arabella stiffened. "I do." All eyes turned to her as the three women let her speak.

"I live with my dad and step-mom. Younger brother. They met in a counselling meeting for survivors of domestic abuse." Everyone gasped. Marina interlaced her hands with the blonde's shaking ones. "My mom kept me out of it, but she was pretty bad on my dad. It was the same for my step-mom. My mom's in jail now but has rehab twice a week and is trying her hardest to be good again- she turned herself in, no fighting." She then chuckled bitterly. "Domestic abuse is really.... bad." The girl re-evaluated her wording choices when Sue gave her a warning look.

Roz Washington nodded empathetically. "When I was growing up, my aunt married a man that was nice to everybody. Used to bring us presents when he came to visit and never had an unkind word to say to anybody. But at home, he had a temper. And that man started beating her. She'd lie, she'd make a joke out of it. She said she'd done this or that wrong. She'd tell my momma he was a good man and she had it coming. It took my aunt five years and a trip to ICU to stop making excuses for that man and get a divorce." The woman explained to the group.

Sue sighed, gesturing to the choir room full of instruments. "Ladies, the American songbook is chock-full of songs making light of men hitting women. And since the only way to get anything into your thick, dopey heads is to force you to sing about it, for this week's assignment, I want you to turn those songs into songs of empowerment that say, "You lay a hand on me, it's over."