A/N: HI EVERYONE! Okay so I'm really excited for this story because I get to write evil&sadistic!Sugar. Awesome.
Anyways, I really like this idea and I'm dancing in my chair as I upload this from the excitement. Yay for new stories! Enjoy ;)
Prologue : Meet Spice Motta
Her small hands shook, her heels tapped desperately against the floor, and her face was twisted in battle against an unknown source. Sugar Motta.
Her eyes were flashing, her pupils widening slightly and her irises darkening. Her fingers clawed at air in her motionless fury, and her toes curled into the very front of her shoes.
No, Spice Motta.
An orange bottle filled with little blue pills stood precariously on the edge of a desk, weeks old and yet the cap was still sealed. The thin white label was worded with many unknown names, but one stood out. Bipolar disorder.
Another bottle, this time with purple pills, had been shoved into the back of a drawer, also unopened, with a similar label. Multiple personalities disorder.
The teenager stood very still in the middle of the bedroom, staring out the window with a passionate hatred that could match no else. Across the street was the Hudson-Hummel home, which was currently hosting a party for one New Directions.
If one was to walk through Sugar's door right now, they would obviously assume Sugar was angry she hadn't been invited to the 'elite' party. But Sugar wasn't angry at all. In fact, at the moment, Sugar Motta didn't exist.
In her mentally unstable mind, she was Spice Motta. An incredibly cunning, yet insane girl who was absolutely infatuated with the one and only Finn Hudson.
In reality, what she thought was love was an unreasonable obsession with the jock.
Sugar- sorry, Spice- watched the glee club teens laugh with each other in the front yard, some sitting in the back of Finn's truck while the others chose to stand casually against the other parked cars.
Spice breathed in slowly through her nose, then turned herself around and headed to her desk, deliberately knocking her medication into the garbage as she reached for the top drawer. She silently closed her hands around a Polaroid camera, pulling it out of the enclosed space and spinning back towards the window. She positioned it to her eye, looking through the lens to across the street, and zoomed in carefully. Spice's finger pushed down the capture button several times, repositioning the camera every so often. Photos floated down to the ground, being ejected out from the slit at the bottom of the device.
Eventually, the party wrapped up with no suspicions of being watched, and Spice closed the drapes before bending down to the thick pile of square pictures and gathering them into her hands. She straightened up and walked to another place in her room. She put down the stack and took out a dozen thumbtacks from the container beside her. One by one, she put up 12 photos beside another of a man who taught at her school, sticking the pins roughly through the center of the students' faces. Then she picked up the rest of her pictures, turned on her heel, and left the room, the door slamming behind her with a thundering crash.