Santana rushed through the front door, throwing her bookbag to the floor, ignoring her parents' calls of, "What's wrong, honey? Are you okay?".
The ran into her room, slamming the door behind her. She threw herself onto her bed, drowning herself in the warm comforting blankets. Hands covering her face, makeup streaking everywhere, face-down in her pillow, Santana violently cried. She just couldn't take it anymore.
She always wanted to be nice to everyone, she really did. She was capable of love and empathy, and had emotions that no one would even believe. She just didn't know how to show them.
It was a normal day. Nothing in particular had happened. It had just kicked in a little earlier than usual. What exactly had kicked in? Santana didn't know. She only knew that it seemed to happen often, usually at night. She would ache all over. She would be sad, tired, and lonely. She would want to cry. She would feel empty. She would hate herself. All of this, usually for no reason in particular.
Today, she had been mean. Mean to everyone. She insulted countless people. She yelled at everyone. She may have even slapped a person or two. But no one cared. No one really told her to stop. No one had yelled or punished her. Heck, people had even laughed with her. They liked what she was doing. She felt the inclusion that she always craved. She felt popular. She felt loved. There were no consequences, so she couldn't stop.
The day had started in the same way it had for a long time. She woke up, swearing that she would be kind and caring. As soon as she walked into class, she sat down. The class had started. Eventually, the teacher said something incredibly strange or stupid. The class had looked at her expectantly. She said nothing, trying to stay nice. The class turned around disappointedly. She felt isolated and lonely, shunned by her classmates for trying to do the right thing.
A few minutes later, one of the weird, ugly students had asked an amazingly dumb question. Once again, the class turned towards her, waiting for the burn. She had to, the pressure got to her. The student ended up running out of the room crying, while the class laughed. She received high fives and thumbs up. She felt good, accepted, accomplished, but still felt that overwhelming sense of guilt underneath.
After that single taste of glory, Santana couldn't stop. All day, she would hurt people, send them even to the brink of tears. She didn't want to, but she had to. It's what was expected of her. People were too used to it.
Every day, the same thing happened. Usually, she would break down late at night, when everyone else was sleeping. But today it was too much.
She didn't want to be this terrible girl anymore. She didn't want people to hate her yet love her. She just wanted love. Everything hurt without it, she felt so alone. But that could never happen. It was too hard to change. Her classmates created for her a tough expectation to fill. It was too hard to switch with each classmate's pressure, even with the tiny bit of opposition she received. And she couldn't do a thing about it.
She had been labeled too early.