Santana Lopez hated herself more than she hated everyone else.
There was that stupid Glee club. The stupid football team and the stupid Cheerios. Stupid Coach Sylvester and stupid Principal Figgins and absolutely ridiculously stupid Mr Schuester. The stupid Asians and the stupidly named Mercedes Jones and the stupid, stupid, stupid uptight, fake, annoying Quinn Fabray with the stupid puffy-nipples, repetitive-hairstyles-obsessed Hudson kid. The stupid Jew that couldn't refrain from dressing like a grandmother's-gifts-to-baby on Christmas and the other stupid Jewish chubby-chaser. And the endless list of all the stupidity that is McKinley High, namely the New Directions (a name that sounds suspiciously like Nude Erections, but that just further suited the whole gay fiasco that it melted into).
She just hated them all so much, but the one she hated most was the stupid, bitchy, phony, slutty closet lesbian that was Santana Lopez. The stupid, bitchy, phony, slutty closet lesbian that she saw in the mirror every day, save for the days where she could avoid it. And those were the happiest days.
And she couldn't forget the completely moronic, academically-challenged, dumb, beautiful, generous, kind idiot that was Brittany S. Pierce.
Artie Abrams was a CRIPPLE. He was the easiest target to slushie because the predators barely had to lift their meaty arms. He would be so easy to push down a flight of stairs to certain death. And being that handicapped must have some effect on your sexual abilities too.
Artie Abrams had some of the worst luck ever experienced by a weak teenager in a high school nearly as dangerous and humiliating as a Japanese game show.
But to Santana Lopez, Artie Abrams had it all. Artie Abrams was the luckiest human to walk the earth.
And the bastard couldn't even walk.
She didn't ask for this. She didn't want to be any of this. Some overused little lesbian with an unrequited love. She didn't want to be like that at all. She just wanted to be straight and pretty and make it all okay for once.
It was too hard. Nobody would ever love her again. Nobody would ever touch her or approach her or speak to her.
She just couldn't get the shrieking mantra to stop playing through her head. It was going to tear her to shreds. It was running her out and breaking her down -
"Santana!"
A refreshing pause, a sweet distraction from all the regretful torture. Was her brain connected to her mouth? It took a few seconds for her to form words. "Here."
Pause. A small touch of laughter. "We're not taking attendance - Santana, are you alright?"
Mr Schuester came into focus in front of her face. His head was tilted slightly, eyebrows furrowed.
"Fine - I - I mean, I'm fine." She couldn't help the stammering, it was the best she could do. The chorus of words was creeping into her head again. Nobody would even notice. It was an excuse to poke at her. And she deserved it. She was a bitch to everyone else anyway.
Ugh, she was starting to feel lightheaded.
"You're not supposed to skip breakfast anymore - it's the most important meal of the day. It says so on the paper placemats at Denny's -"
"Brittany, I - I don't think now's the time." Mr Schuester's voice cut off the soft, slightly blank voice that Santana loved most. But she had to be grateful. She wasn't allowed to feel that way. She had to be right, she had to stop the feelings, if she could do that she could stop the words that snuck into her head.
"Thank you." Was that out loud? Her head voice muddled into her real voice. She felt like Brittany on a good day. It sounded blank and distant, odd to herself.
"Mr Schue, I think -"
The dizziness in her brain was making her stomach twist. All the annoying voices kept fitting into her thoughts. Nobody will like you anymore. You're an outcast and you deserve to be.
"Hey, whoa." She felt a slightly cold hand on her arm. Black lines were shivering in front of her eyes. "Rachel, just stop talking for a second!"
Mr Schuester's hand grasped Santana's arm firmly. She felt like the world was tilted. She was leaning heavily. Her head felt heavy on one side. Her vision blurred.
"I feel sick." She managed thickly, her eyes wide. Her ears were ringing. The voices in the room sounded distant and hollow, as if she were wearing headphones. Her head felt heavy, she let herself fall to one side absently.
"Santana, it's okay. Just breathe." Hadn't she been breathing? She tried to take a breath. Her chest expanded, and the ringing in her ears stuttered for a second. Mr Schuester had two arms on her heavy side, keeping her from the floor. Why?
"It's - I'm okay. I just -"
"Kurt, grab her arm." Mr Schue's voice said loudly. Her head dropped onto something soft. "Let's get her to the nurse."
One softer arm linked through her other arm. "Pretty damn pale, Santana." said a soft voice quietly. Or it might have been her imagination.
Her head flopped into Mr Schue's shoulder as they dragged her jelly legs down the hallway. The mantra blew like bullhorns in her head, words sharper than ever. Maybe she'd pass out and never wake up. At least then she could escape.
