The sun seeped into the large windows and reflected itself on the carpeted hallway. Alejandro Lopez was already making his way on to work when he met his first-born son, Agustin. His son was already dressed for school, and his backpack was already slung on his shoulder.
"Good morning, Papi," he greeted his father and kissed his hand respectfully.
"Buenos dias," Alejandro gave out a quick nod to his son before going out. "Is your sister awake already?"
"No, Papi," Agustin smiled sadly. He already knew what was coming because of this.
"What time did she come home last night?" Alejandro asked.
"I don't know, maybe you should ask Prescott about that, Papi," Agustin said suggestively as he made his way to the kitchen. Alejandro also started to walk to find the butler.
"Good morning, sir," Prescott greeted cordially. He was wearing his usual tuxedo uniform and was leaning on the mast of the head of the stairs.
"Prescott, I just want to know. What time did Santana come home last night?" Alejandro looked expectantly at the butler.
"She came in," Prescott paused as if he was trying to remember. "At around four-fifteen in the morning, sir," Prescott said with an authoritative tone.
"Doesn't she have class?" Alejandro said with disdain.
"She has a class sir, and she's only having ten minutes to get to it, unfortunately."
Prescott's confirmation of his suspicion was enough for Alejandro already. He quickly made his way towards his daughter's room. He angrily tapped on the girl's door.
"Santana, open up!" Alejandro said loudly as he called his daughter. However, Santana did not open up. And there was no response so he just got it. "Fine! I'll see you at dinner. We need to talk."
He left their house, which actually seemed like an empty, haunted mansion and went to work that day. When he came around for dinner, his son, Agustin and his wife Carmen were at the table.
"Come, let's eat," Carmen beckoned him to sit at the head of the table.
"Where's Santana?" he asked his wife.
"I don't know. She might have left the house earlier," Carmen said softly. The brunette woman stared at her husband for a moment and turned to her son. "Have you seen Santana, Agustin?"
"No, Mami. I really haven't seen her," Agustin said as he straightened up on his seat.
"Well, since there are no signs of Santana showing up, let's eat," Alejandro said, albeit with a sad hint in his voice.
"Shouldn't we wait for her, Alejandro?" Carmen put out a hand and groped it.
"As much as I wanted to, I couldn't wait for food," Alejandro said.
"Fine. Prescott," Carmen called the butler. "Tell Lydia to bring the food in."
They dug through dinner and in the middle of it, a loud slam of the front door was heard. It was followed by soft, rubber-sounding running steps in the hallway.
"Santana!" Alejandro called his daughter. "We need to talk."
A Latina-featured brunette went into the kitchen, carrying a rucksack behind her back and a longboard in one hand. She had a cap twisted around on her head and her denim jacket seemed a little ruffled. She stood there, very apart from her family, her father, in a business suit, her mother in a business suit as well, and her brother Agustin was wearing a plain, white shirt. They all looked so stoic, nonchalant and…too formal.
"What the fuck?" she snapped.
"Santana!" her mother gasped, shocked of what her daughter had turned into. "How could you? You are an insolent delinquent!"
"Shut up!" Santana raised her voice.
"Is that how you talk to your mother?" Alejandro snapped.
"Well, how do you expect me to answer her? After all, you did not care about me," she quipped angrily at her father.
"Santana, sit down," her father ordered. "We have to talk. You did not go to school today, did you? I called. What do you think the hell this is? A game?"
"Why would I? I'm too tired of all the games, Papi. This sucks! This whole family sucks!"
"Santana," Agustin said, cutting her off.
"And what do you have to say, Agustin? That they're right? That they only want what's best for us? Shut the hell up, Agustin. This is not the way of a good parent. If they had been feeding you candy just to get your loyalty, fine…but you know what? You'll regret the fact that you did stuck up with this crazy authoritarian family!" she yelled as she quickly stomped out of the room.
Santana went up to her room and sulked for the rest of the night.
Great, her whole evening is shot.
She stood up and paced back and forth of the room. She dialled a certain person and waited for her call to be packed up.
"Come on…" she mumbled under her breath.
On the second ring, a man answered her. "Look, Satan, what do you want? You know this time is Quinn and my mack-on," the man growled.
"Puck, I need your help," Santana said flatly.
"Why?" the man said again.
"I need a place to go. I'm leaving this place," Santana declared.
"Okay, I'll just…look for places," Puck answered hesitantly on the other line.
Puck had been her best friend for as long as she knew. She ran around the city streets, robbing for sport with him. Puck was the same age as her and as carefree as her, although Puck had been given his freedom and independence long ago, unlike her.
Santana was born in an upright-elite family, the Lopez family. She was Hispanic of ancestry and her wild side was considered unacceptable. She often criticized her family for shutting themselves out from the world and humanity itself. She hated all of them, in fact, she hated rich people who seemed to only care about themselves and their own narrow vision of the world.
She hated rich guys and girls. Yeah, except for Puck.
She wanted to be independent, she wanted to be free from the straining chains and rules of her father, Alejandro. And most of all, she wanted to go to Paris and be a photographer or a painter and work for herself there. But her family had been the hindrance to all that she had wanted, in the first place.
"Thanks," Santana disconnected her phone and threw it on the bed. Then she took out a rucksack underneath her king-size bed and tossed a few clothes in it. Most of them were denims and tops. Next, she dug out all the bills she had saved and sorted out all her ATMs from her credit cards. She placed the credit cards on an inside pocket of the rucksack and placed her ATMs on the other side.
She also took out her personal stuff, her cameras, sketch pads, laptops, a few of her jewels, a flashlight, a tool kit, complete with a Swiss knife and a hunter's knife, which Puck had given her for protection when gang run-ons were hot downtown.
Then she wrung her blanket into a cloth rope and she tied it around her bedpost. The next thing she took out was her comforter and tied it to her blanket. Next thing to go was a spare blanket.
The height will already do for her.
Silently, with her backpack containing her cameras and laptops fitted snugly behind her, she slung her rucksack around her shoulders, she was ready. The night air was cold, yet Santana stepped out the window.
Clad in her combat shoes and torn denim jeans, topped with a white shirt that fitted her small frame and a leather jacket over a hoodie to keep her warm, she gripped hard on the cloth coming out from her bedroom window as she made her way down quietly.
She landed on the ground with a soft thud and a rustle of leaves as the golden tops that her mother had adored so much were trampled on by her boots. Slowly, she made her way towards the back of the mansion.
And her frail shadow disappeared into a clump of trees.
She quickly made her way towards an old tree that stood in the farthest corner and started climbing it. Pretty soon, she was just above the tall concrete wall that surrounded the house that seemed so much like a prison to her.
There was no commotion inside the house. No yelling or frantic searching for a certain Santana Lopez. No calling of cops.
All is good. She thought.
Santana rested her strong left foot on the concrete wall while her nimble hands held on to the branches. It was a hard task, but for freedom, Santana would gladly do it.
She made her way to the corner of the wall, then without letting go of the branch, she quickly lowered herself. She was a few feet from the ground when she heard a snap. She had to make a jump for it.
She jumped.
A few minutes after, a young Latina was already hailing a cab on the next block.
"Where do you want to go, ma'am?" the driver asked.
"Take me to Louisville," she ordered.
"That would cost you a hundred and fifty bucks, ma'am…" the driver said.
"Forget it, just take me downtown," Santana climbed in the car.
A/N: As you can see, there is no cover for this fic, so I am asking you guys a real BIG favor. Please, please, please, please...please make me a cover or a manip?
Please? 0;)
