All the way there, she had been trying to delete every kind of thought that would pop into her head. They all know my secr - erase. I'm on the bus with my cheerleading trunk packed with – don't even go there. They kicked – fuck off. She quite successfully annihilated every real start of a deeper or in any way emotional thought and probably would have been proud of it if she was not somewhere acutely aware of the fact that pretending like this was not happening most likely would not do her any good.

It was not until she got off the bus that she realized where she was, where she had more or less subconsciously been heading for the last hour. The first twenty minutes of that hour, she had been walking, furiously walking, in circles around a nearby block in Lima Heights.

It was hard to tell whether it was because of the initial shock or because of something else, like highly effective self repression, but not even then was she allowing herself to think about what had just happened.

The only thing she consciously tried to do was putting all her fury into the stomping of her feet, putting all her anger and frustrations into this one thing, this actual physical motion. She probably owed one Sue Sylvester that tactic.

Not that she felt any kind of debt of gratitude towards Sue Sylvester, not after this. Santana did not allow herself to think about any of this, though, she just walked on with stomping feet and clutched the shoulder strap of her trunk harder.

That was the first twenty minutes. Then she noticed the bus stop and halted. As her channel – her steady movement – had stopped, thoughts began to appear in her head again. The first one she managed to grasp was simple: take the goddamn bus, Santana, and get the fuck out of here.

Later, she would realize that retorting to lame, everyday American swearing instead of her usual radiating bitchiness even if it was only in her own head, was what being mentally exhausted felt like. It was what if felt like, when you lost so much all at once.

The bus came within five minutes, which was a really good thing because Santana could not stand the prospect of having to wait any longer to just get out of there. She couldn't stop the thoughts from pouring into her head when she was just standing there, waiting.

Those five minutes of waiting was the only thinking she did during that hour, and all she managed to conclude from the conflicted, chaotic and disturbing thoughts that threatened to blow up her mind, was this: I can't go to Brittany's house. There were multiple reasons for that.

If Santana had been thinking clearly, she would have been able to see that none of those reasons were completely valid, but she was not thinking clearly. She had never been this far from thinking clearly before.

Standing by that bus stop breathing the rough November air, all she could think was that going to Brittany's house would practically be the same as outing her and Santana was not going to do that to anyone, not after this, and least of all to Britt.

All she could think was that she could not go to Britt's house because Britt's parents might have exactly the same kind of freak-out Santana's own parents just had displayed.

If she had been thinking clearly she would have remembered that Brittany's parents were complete hippies and that the sign on their front door said "peace, love and understanding". They probably wouldn't have cared at all.

However, that was not what Santana was thinking. She was thinking about how she could not possibly out Britt, and besides… she was not even sure she would be able to explain this to Brittany. The effort it would take to explain what just had happened to Brittany, was exhausting just to think about.

So as much as she wanted her Britt right now, there was no way she would go to her house now. She wanted to, she really wanted to, but Brittany was the only person Santana was not selfish around, and she was not going to change that now.

And so, Santana got on the bus not with an actual idea of where she was going, but rather with a distinct decision where not to go.

The bus ride had been ridiculously easy compared to the waiting. The steady pace of the bus, the humming noise of the engine and the hissing of the opening and closing doors provided welcome distractions and made the deleting of thoughts immensely easier.

Having shut a good deal of herself off, she had not paid much attention to where she was actually going. All she knew about her destination was away and not Britt's. So when she got off the bus, taking a careful step down to the pavement, she was surprised at her own movement.

She was surprised that any part of her knew where she was heading and where to get off the bus, and even more surprised that part of her apparently also knew how to control her body.

Normally, that feeling would probably have been a bit freaky, but this was not normally and frankly, Santana was happy that she did not really have to think in order to actually do something.

The second she heard the bus move on behind her she looked around to see where she was, where she had apparently decided to go. Oh, she realized. I'm on my way to the Hummel's.

She had never really been there before, but she still knew where it was. She passed the house whenever she would pick up Brittany for something. Brittany would always point at the house and absentmindedly say something in the lines of "I liked Kurt's old room better, but I totally get why they moved. It's just not right to keep unicorns in basements."

Santana hesitated and allowed herself to simply stand still on her spot on the pavement. She needed to think – or maybe not properly think in the meaning of actual reflection, but she needed to figure this out. Why was she going to the Hummel's?

Because Ladyface's dad had been there when they showed her the video, Santana stated drily. And because he seemed kind of supportive, added a voice that kept reminding Santana of Brittany but that she realized was what other people would refer to as their "good inner voice". And because he has got to have some kind of history with gay teens coming out.

The last thought she let pass through her mind before she started walking towards the Hummel's, was this: only being able to come up with Sue Sylvester's nicknames for Kurt Hummel is a bad sign. The ultimate sign of being off your fucking game.

It was not until Santana was on the doorstep that she allowed herself to be nervous. Nervousness was not a feeling she was used to, because usually nervousness did not really come to her naturally. Usually, she could stall the nervousness and replace it with a bitchy attitude before it got a footing in her mind.

Her usual defenses were down, not only or even mostly because of the situation, but because of the way she was still blocking her thoughts and feelings. She could not bring herself to act normal when she was focusing all her energy into not feeling at all.

Later, she would not remember raising her arm and ringing the doorbell. All she would be able to recall was the muffled sound of the bell behind the door, and the way her heart pumped so violently that her entire chest quivered.

Later, she would not remember waiting for the door to open. All she could recall was hearing the hasty stumbling of big feet in the hallway. After that, the door flung open so quickly Santana almost jumped backwards.

It took her a good half second to realize who was standing in front of her and when she realized who it was, it did not take long for every feeling and every thought she had been pushing away the last hour, to come right back to her.

Finn fucking Hudson, Santana thought and could almost feel her facial expression darken. Karma is a bitch.