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"HEY S," Santana sniffled, kneeling in front of Sarah's makeshift shrine, "I think I'm losing my mind more every single day, I mean... I'm talking to what Wheezie told me was your favourite stuffed animal with a bucket of ice cream. I took Wheez's advice with the ice cream thing, turns out filling your empty heart with ice cream works pretty well."
"— also... a bunny? You could've been more original than that," She mumbled, letting out a soft laugh, "It's been a few days and now I'm trapped in Tanneyhill. Our sperm donor won't let me leave, Selah's shoved all her stuff into here too. Oscar got arrested for absolutely beating the shit out of him, and now Cesar's running off around the Cut."
Santana paused for a moment, trying to relax as she slumped back and leant against the closest wall to her. Her phone was still blowing up, it had been for a few days.
10 new calls from Kie.
8 new texts from Pope.
and about 20 new voicemails from JJ.
They just wanted to hear her voice, and not the one being puppeted by Ward to the public. It really started to sink in that money and fake promises can buy you any amounts of power in the world, apparently enough to silence police officers when faced with testaments; suddenly Lana Grubbs no longer wanted to talk, and Santana's word of mouth wasn't enough to pursue Ward Cameron. Even if she was a witness on the Tarmac.
The thing was, the murder weapon had both Santana and Rafe's prints. And by all means, she was more than ready to go down with Rafe if it meant clearing everybody's names and getting the truth out there.
Except she couldn't; Ward had supposedly disposed of the gun, the Pilot was paid off and the surrounding Cameron's were sticking to their story — she had no one to believe her.
And the one person who did, she was avoiding at all costs.
"I feel like you would've been telling me to go see the Pogues," Santana continued, cracking her knuckles, "I can't face them. I mean, what? What can I tell them? That I let the Cameron's back me into a wall? No fucking chance."
"But I'm gonna fix this, for you, for B, and for the two that started it all."
——
"SO RAFE, WHAT'S GOING ON WITH YOUR FACE?" Santana called out, smoking in the Cameron's living room where Rafe had been pacing for the past twenty minutes. That had become a daily recurrence.
"None of your business."
"Awh, is Rafe nervous to go to Peterkin's funeral?" Santana teased him, watching his face go red, "Such a shame that her killer and his family are attending. Do you like, get off on this?"
"Shut your godamn mouth Santana!" Rafe screamed, not enough for Santana to flinch however. In his fit of rage, he begun to scratch his face a little, only before clenching his fists as he walked closer to where Santana was, "You just need to shut your mouth."
