"It was self-defense" those words echo hollowly in my ear. I stare unseeing in the courtroom; the crime for which I am being judged is playing before my eyes for the hundredth time. Murderer, no matter how they describe it in their fancy language, it is what I am. The evidence does not change, the tides could ebb and flow until the end of time, and the world still goes on. Everything continues to move but I am stuck in this moment watching her face, trying to hear the words that were lost to me, I suspect what they are but if I remember them, I know it would damage my already broken soul.

I watch the proceedings, only half listening, guilty is what I am and for what I have done, I will suffer. If they are merciful it will be in a prison behind bars, putting me away from the people who walk their streets everyday or sentence me to death, and if I am lucky, my guilt would be eased. Which is more than I deserve. For torture, they simply have to let me go free, to roam where I wish and I would be tortured every minute for my crime until I go mad.

The first witness has been called to the stand now; I am not so out of it that I do not notice the way he forces his feet to walk to the interrogation box. How many times has he been here where I am, watching the court proceedings? We knew each other so well, but now it seems like a lifetime away. He swears to tell the truth, but his voice hold no life. He knows that no matter which way the jury decides, things will never go back to how they were. One of his friends is still dead. He's still in shock that I would be the one on trial for killing her. He sits down robotically ready for their questions. They ask him casually about my character, he eyes them suspiciously but answers all the same. They ask him several more questions about the deceased, his relationship to them, to me. It becomes apparent to the court he doesn't believe I did it. But then they bring out the weapon, when they do I look at his face, he recognizes it. He had shown me it earlier that same day. They ask the question, it falls on deaf ears as he stares at me coming to the realization that I did do it.

"Boy," the judge voice says gravely. "I must ask you to answer the question: Do you recognize this knife?"

He opens his mouth than shuts it tightly, the tension in his jaw showing. All he can do is delay the inevitable; he knows that when he answers he will be condemning me, it's his last act of loyalty to the friendship we once shared. The friendship that will die here in the courtroom, even if I am found innocent, I know that we will never speak again.

His voice breaks as he answers. It's so broken that the prosecutor almost looks ashamed for asking. But the lawyer quickly recovers as he fires the second and the third questions, his last of the day. In the same broken voice, he answers and the courthouse riots just enough to call the end of the day. He doesn't move from the stand even after the judge leaves. He doesn't look up as I walk by back to the holding cell in chains. I pause; the second I take is too short but just long enough for me to memorize his handsome face, his build, and to remember everything we experienced together. I tell him a soft goodbye for I know him so well, he won't come again. As the door closes, I almost miss the words he says.

"Goodbye Santana."

A/N: I haven't given up on Present this just kinda came to me in a half-hour and I thought I should get it down. It's been editited so it reads a bit better.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee.