I am Santana Lopez. I know you got burnt by just how hot my name sounds, and I'm not even sorry. Well, no, I'm not as full of myself as how people would normally see me. I'm just honest, and I don't deny facts. I know I'm hot, which may translate to self-absorption to some, and confidence to others. I really can't care less either way.

I have present matters to deal with. It's kind of a tough job.

Three of my exes are fighting in front of me right now. I was watching them impatiently, finding my nails more amusing than their entertaining factor altogether. I have seen this scenario one too many times.

I like girls, and, yeah, you can infer they like me back.

"Nobody deserves Santana as much as I do!" Victoria screams to no one in particular, maybe to herself. If she actually deserved me, all of us four wouldn't be performing a shit-ass 'Santana is Mine' show. I think I have an idea of who deserves me. It's not her. I am a very distinct person.

Victoria has piercing green eyes. It's what attracted me the most. Her hair is brown and is in fringe, framing her face perfectly. I won't take away that from her. I can still see how attractive she is even after we're already over, but – of course there's a 'but' – it's only physically. She's no longer attractive to me on a deeper personal note. Victoria is filthy rich. I mean it. When we we're still together, she would always take me out on fancy restaurants. She brings me to shopping prior to date night so I could meet the standards of the venue. Every night, every car we ride on is different from the last one. She even has a driver. I don't know how she or her family accomplished to claim that much wealth, but I believe I didn't want to know. Victoria and I lasted for two months only. It was okay at first, at the testing-the-waters-let's-be-casual stage. She was actually funny, if she wouldn't restrict herself so much. But when that point was over, and after three times of having sex with her, I knew something wasn't right. I noticed she only talks to me two hours before date night, and doesn't bother to check in on me on normal, plain hours. She would easily get mad if I stuck with my choice even if she didn't approve of it. I'm talking about the dresses she buys for me, and, logically, would be worn by me and myself only. I don't get her. She seethes when she disapproves of my own choices, and I chose to still go with them. I thought it was an issue of control. Apparently, it was an issue of shaping me into someone her dad would approve of. She's completely gay, but that doesn't change the standards of her imposing father. I was shocked when I knew, because Victoria saw me as someone she could be with for a long time, up to the point I needed to meet her dad. The only thing she didn't see, however, is that money won't keep me around. It's definitely not the thing I look in for a potential mate. So, no, she doesn't deserve me.

"Bitch, you wish. I knew Santana first, so she's mine," Yvette insists just as forcefully. She's kind of fierce.

Yvette has pink hair in pixie cut. She has piercings, and a banging body. I thought we were just fucking around, literally and figuratively, until she shows up at my door fighting for her place in my life. I didn't know she likes me like that but the only thing is – I don't reciprocate her sentiments. She doesn't fail on insisting, though. She has all the chances for being my fuck buddy and casual friend, but just not with being her girl.

And then there's Ashton, standing indifferently, though invested in the argument for most parts. I have no idea how she wound up in this shindig with my two exes, but she has.

Out of them three, Ashton is the one I'm actually fond of. I may even have had real feelings for this girl. Her own feelings may have ended up being ambiguous, however. And there lies my resistance towards her. She's blonde, she's quirky, she's pretty, she's kind – she's everything I'm not. And you know what I am? – a lesbian. When things between us were starting to get serious, she became distant. When I asked her why, it turns out she wasn't sure of her sexuality. I don't think I want to deal with closet girls, I've been through that myself. I wasn't too into her that I would expose myself and readily wait for her. It's her baggage, not mine.

No.

No to all of them.

I raise my two hands in surrender. "None of you owns me. End of discussion. Let's call this a day."

"Santana," they whine in unison, even Ashton. They sounded needy and reprimanding – so annoying.

I raise a brow in exhaustion.

"Just, give me another chance. Baby, please," Victoria pleads.

"Let me take you out, Lo," Yvette says, "I swear we'll be happy."

"I just want to talk," Ashton, always with marginal indifference, shrugs.

I shake my head in exasperation. "I get it we all got history with each other. Maybe it was fun, maybe it was not. The reason why three lovely girls fighting over me is beyond me, and I meant that genuinely. I really, really hope you'll get over me, or us, as soon as possible. Because I am definitely over you guys."

My three exes were looking at one another tentatively. Yvette clicked her tongue whilst scratching her head. Ashton was just staring at her feet awkwardly. Victoria just mumbles a 'there's another day' and the three of them took that as a signal to go.

"Bye, Santana," I heard them mutter collectively and dejectedly.

I wanted to laugh at my situation, but I didn't have the energy to do so. I closed my apartment door, stripped down my clothes, and readily flopped down to my comfy, comfy bed.

It's my wedding day. It's the day my womanhood will be validated. It's the event that would change 'Pierce' to 'Evans.' It's the afternoon of Sunday when my life will be completely turned around. I am getting married to one Samuel Evans.

Of course I don't have doubts about him. I was supposed to be sure about him – and I am. He proposed to me on an ice cream store that's kind of our place, and in that moment, I knew I was sure of him. Sam gets me. He never looked down on me because I see things little differently, which I get a lot. We're in the same wavelengths, even in the same face mold. Believe me, it's been countless since we've been asked if we're siblings. I take it as a compliment, though. I've been told that the more you look akin to your partner, the higher are the chances that you're meant to be. It's like you're both from the same roots, and were set to found your way to one another. I'd like to believe that.

Sam's funny, he's good-looking, and he gets me. It's all that I could ask for. I'm lucky to have met him, and to be married to him.

So now, here am I, sat on a white Limo, almost reaching the church where my groom is waiting for me. And the rest of the people our parents invited.

However Sam and I insisted for the wedding to be simple and intimate, both of our parents persisted it ought to be grand and special. My mother even said she'll give me the wedding she's always dreamed of. That apparently consists of an intricate wedding gown, a limo, so many people, and other stuff I didn't dwell on too much. Furthermore, they never let us worry of this occasion's finances, saying this is a once-in-a-lifetime event. It's like their sort of gift, they said. Ultimately, I only cared about marrying Sam, and the rest is just details.

On my way, I thought about how everything Sam and I led to this. We were best friends, until he fell for me. He's the first person I confided about being attracted to both boys and girls. He just shrugged, as though I just revealed to him that the sky is blue. He said that it doesn't matter who I'm attracted to, as long as he or she would treat me right. He accepted and respected my preference, and I am so grateful for that. Eventually, he asked me out. Despite being scared of dating ruining our awesome, awesome friendship, I gave Sam a chance. I'm scared nobody would ever get me like he does. Date after date, we become official and stuff. We may not be the type of couple who says 'I love you' every waking day, but I believe we have our own ways and it is obviously implied.

I can't wait to say 'I do.'

The vehicle halted, and it was time. I looked down to my very beautiful Stephanotis bouquet, and smiled. This is it.

The car door didn't immediately open, but the driver was there standing. He was wearing a slick tux that even with his disastrous Mohawk, he didn't look out of place. He looked down on the rolled down window, smiling, and extended a manila envelope to me.

I took it, though baffled.

I opened it cautiously, wondering why there's an urgency of an ambiguous envelope before my wedding. I thought, can't it wait after? I carried on anyway, thinking it is part of the dream wedding my mom always wanted.

But it's not.

My mom would never dream of this, most especially for her daughter.

There in the envelope lie several pictures of Sam in a club, groping another chick's ass, and obviously enjoying it. It was of different angles, and I know there were other worse things after it. I don't need to see no more.

At first there was confusion, because why the fuck do I have to see this just literally minutes before my wedding day? And then I realized I was mad, because I was cursing inside my head. I was so, so mad. Sam cheated on me! I only had good things about him, and then I see this? I am enraged. What I thought would have been the perfect day turns out to be the complete opposite.

I stormed out of the limo, forgetting to greet my father expecting for me. I also ignored him when he said 'Honey, what's wrong?' Everything is wrong, and a day is not enough to answer that question.

I practically rushed towards Sam, unknowing that our parents were trailing behind me. It's not very easy to run when you're wearing a heavy gown and your vision was clouded by a veil. Or maybe it was tears that were clouding my vision. I'm not even sure anymore, and I don't know if I care either way.

Sam was looking at me with loving and confused eyes. He definitely didn't expect his bride to be looking like I do right now.

"Britt, is everything okay?" He asks with concern, juggling his surroundings at once, trying to get the gist of it.

"No," I seethed.

"Sweetheart, what happened? What are you holding?" That was my mom – or maybe Sam's. I don't even know.

"Brittany, calm down." Now that's my mom, who is calling me by my full name.

The next thing I know, I was throwing my bouquet at the wrong time. I shoved the envelope to Sam's chest, and my hand was flying to slap his cheek.

The sound it made was so loud it wakened me from my angered state. I looked around, and everyone was astounded. I can't blame them – I am, too.

"Britt, I'm sorry," Sam starts as he regains enough consciousness. "I can explain."

But I'm not hearing it.

So I ran. I collected the pooling parts of my gown from the red carpeted floor, and ran as fast as my heels and my situation allowed me to.

I ran away with the screaming question of why does this need to happen to me in my mind.