My mama told me when I was young, we are all born superstars
She rolled my hair and put my lipstick on, in the glass of her boudoir
"There's nothing wrong with loving who you are," she said
"'Cause he made you perfect, babe."
"So hold your head up girl and you'll go far, listen to me when I say,"
I'm beautiful in my way
'Cause God makes no mistakes
I'm on the right track, baby, I was born this way
Don't hide yourself in regret, just love yourself and you're set
I'm on the right track baby, I was born this way
Oh, there ain't no other way
Baby, I was born this way
~Born This Way, Lady Gaga
(s a n t a n a pov)
You're seven the first time it happens.
The first time you suspect there's something different about you.
The first time you wonder if someone, somewhere, messed up when they were making you and wired you all wrong.
It's the first day of second grade and Quinn, you're best friend, has decided to hate Rachel Berry. Personally, you don't have anything against the tiny brunette. You think her voice is pretty and her hands are kind of cute. But Quinn's your best friend, and she hates Rachel, so you hate Rachel too.
That's how it's supposed to be, right?
But when Noah, that boy who's always trying to kiss you but you don't really like, goes to sit by her and Quinn bites out something about Berry's father, your brain freezes.
It's weird that Rachel has two dads?
You think about it the rest of the day, wondering what's wrong with two men being in love. After all, isn't love always a good thing? No matter who's doing the loving?
So when you go home, you ask your parents about it. You ask your mamí what's wrong with that Berry girl's parents.
Your papí is the one that answers though.
"They're immoral, Santi. The bible says that two men should not love each other the same way that a man and a woman do. Personally, I find it shameful that they would bring up a child in such a damaged household."
After he finishes, he leaves the room to talk to his boss about some work thing. Your mother smiles at you sadly, her eyes regretful as she tells you to finish eating your vegetables.
You weren't sure why there was that regret, not when you were only seven and just figuring out that not everyone saw the world the way you did. But now, now you think that she knew, way before you ever did.
When you're seven, you know that something is different.
When you're nine, you figure out what it is.
While Brittany giggles about how cute that Artie boy with the glasses is and Quinn smiles like the sun at Finn and Noah, you notice the way the light filters through Brittany's hair, making the blonde strands shine like a halo. You find your eyes lingering on Quinn's porcelain features, Brittany's warm grin and pretty pink lips.
Then, one day on the playground when you're playing with Brittany and Quinn, something warm fluttering in your stomach at the sound of Brittany's laugh, and Karofsky shoves Rachel, snarling something about her faggot fathers.
Everyone snickers and smirks, hiding wide smiles behind hands so that the teacher doesn't yell at them.
The only two who don't smile are you and Noah.
You aren't sure why he doesn't find it amusing, but you know why you don't.
Because some day, Karofsky's spawn and Quinn's perfect children could be saying the same things to your child. Shoving her and telling her that her parents are disgusting.
The next day, you have your first kiss.
With Matthew Rutherford.
His lips are dry and chapped, his hair too short and too dark.
You heard some of the older girls talking about how fun kissing was, how much they liked doing it, how they felt sparks when they were with some of the boys, but not all.
You have no clue what they were talking about.
That may be the least fun thing you've ever done.
You're twelve when you realize you have a thing for Quinn Fabray.
It's Thursday, when you figure it out. The two of you are hanging out by yourselves for once, Brittany was home sick, and it was like one of those cheesy cartoons where a light bulb goes off over the character's head when she has an idea.
It's sudden, the realization that you like her hazel eyes a little bit too much, pay a little too much attention to her when she's speaking, smile just a little bit too bright when she makes a joke. The realization that you like her more that best friends are supposed to like each other comes too quickly.
You wish it had never come at all.
Her warm breath on your ear when she's whispering snide comments about Berry in your ear makes you shiver. Her hand grazes yours sometimes on the way to lunch and you have to concentrate to not just reach out and lace your fingers with hers.
You aren't supposed to like her that way.
You aren't supposed to like any girls that way.
On Friday, you push Rachel so hard she falls down and snap out some comment about how she'll probably end up all screwed up because she's got two dads and no mom. Then you shove that prissy boy, Kurt, down next to her and tell him that there's something wrong with him.
The nauseous feeling in your stomach doesn't go away for the next two weeks, no matter how proud and bright the smile Quinn gave you was.
A few days before your thirteenth birthday party, you catch Quinn kissing Finn behind the water fountains.
Your heart gets a little more broken.
And you get a little bit colder.
So when you're thirteen, you let Noah – no, Puck now, since his dad left and proved family means shit – take off your shirt.
And then your jeans.
And then your underwear.
Honestly, it sucks and you hate it and you have to fake your way through it so that Puck doesn't spread any rumors about you sucking in bed. But afterwards, you sneak into Brittany's room and cry into her shoulder and hate yourself just a little bit more than you did the day before.
Quinn wants to rule high school. She's your best friend and the first girl you ever liked liked, so when she asks, read: tells, you and Brittany to join the Cheerios with her, you do so without protest.
Maybe, if you get popular enough, Quinn will realize she's in love with you.
So, after all three of you make the squad, the Fabrays ask the Lopezs out to dinner. You and Quinn sit on one end, laughing about the ridiculous sweater that Berry was wearing today and the silly way Finn smiles when Quinn kisses him.
Then you overhear some of the conversation the parents are having.
Your father and Quinn's mom are talking about how horrible it was that Rachel had to grow up in that home, Quinn's dad chiming in with a 'yes, that poor girl'.
And then Quinn agrees with them.
That's the moment you officially stop liking Quinn Fabray.
You start to hate her just a little bit instead.
It's only a little while after that when you decide that there has to be some way to fix this.
There's got to be some way to stop thinking that the smooth skin of the girls' changing after Cheerios practice is so much prettier than the rough stubble of the football players. Some way to like rakish smirks more than pretty smiles, some way to prefer hard lines to soft curves, broad jaws to slender necks.
There's got to be a way to stop being wrong.
You don't know who fucked up; who screwed up your wiring when they were making you, but you hate them a little bit more than you hate Quinn Fabray. A little more than you hate Hummel for being proud of who he is, a little more than you hate Brittany for being beautiful, a little more than you hate your parents for ingraining the idea that you're wrong into you for the past seven years.
The next party you go to, you get drunk, have sex with some guy that you aren't even remotely attracted to, and then choke back some vomit when Brittany curls warm arms around your waist.
Party after that, same thing. And the party after that, and the party after that.
Get wasted.
Screw some idiot boy.
Sit with Brittany.
Get a little bit angrier.
Hate everyone a little bit more.
Repeat.
You aren't sure what happened, how Brittany figured it out.
All you know is that one day, you're hanging out with Brittany in your room talking about what a bitch Q is, and the next, she's kissing you. Her lips are soft and warm and so much better than any of the boys that you've kissed.
At first, you think that she's just started another list or something, that she'd already made out with all the boys and that now she wanted to make out with all the girls. But then she pulls back, her eyes sparkling.
"Don't you wanna love me, San? It's okay. I won't tell."
And with that, your lips are slanted against hers, a hand fisted in silky blonde hair, another wrapped around a supple waist.
Quinn was your first friend, your first crush.
But Brittany's always been the one who knew what you wanted, what you needed.
And maybe you'll like her just a little bit more than you liked Quinn, if you just let yourself.
That first time, it's so much scarier than it was with Puck.
Because this time, it matters.
Because it's Brittany. She smells like pineapples and she's wearing cherry chapstick and she giggles when you brush a hand against that ticklish spot on the back of her knee. Her skin smells just a little bit like the vanilla lotion you gave her for her last birthday and her eyes are glittering in a way you've never seen.
Everywhere she presses against you is so warm.
You're just so warm.
And you're fucking terrified all over again.
So you tell Brit that she's a good kisser, than she's got a fantastic body, and that this didn't mean anything.
That you liked boys.
She just smiles and nods and leaves, bouncing happily from your room.
But a few times after that, she stops smiling before she nods and bounces from the room. A while after that, she stops nodding. And then a little bit after that, she stops bouncing.
She starts loving you.
But you can't love her.
Loving her is wrong.
At least, everyone says it is.
And you aren't sure that there's a difference between the two.
The day Brittany tells the rest of the Glee club that the two of you are having sex, she's got this look in her eyes. It's the same look she had before she dared Quinn to be nice to Rachel for a day, the same look she got right before she told Puck that it was pretty clear he didn't really love Santana or Quinn, that he really loved his fellow hot Jew.
It's something like determination.
Something like defiance.
So you knew that something was going to happen, you just didn't know what.
And it's just the Glee club.
They all think you're a whore anyways.
All of them are too caught up in their own lives to realize that Brit's the only one you love, not the football assholes that you let screw you in their backseats.
So it really doesn't matter that much.
It takes you a really long time to figure out what you want. Actually, it takes you a really long time to figure out that what you want is more important than what everyone else wants.
Oddly enough, your mother is the one that helps the realization come about. Brittany had just stormed out after telling you that it wasn't enough anymore, that she wanted to talk about what the hell the two of you were doing.
"Look, Santi, I know that I've never said anything before, that I let you believe that I agreed with your father. But, baby girl, you've got to know that I'll love you no matter what. That God loves you no matter what, that you are perfect," she says it with tears in her eyes and shaking hands wrapped around your shoulders, her voice so unbearably sad.
She leaves before you can respond.
The next day, you tell Brittany that you love her.
Maybe someone did fuck up when they were making you.
But maybe someone made you perfect.
So you take a flying leap and hope that you're right, that you can admit that you're head over heels for a girl and that things will be okay.
But she says she loves Artie and that she can't hurt him.
What she doesn't say?
I love him just a little bit more than I love you.
You stomach drops and your heart breaks and all the cruelty you had managed to beat back, all the mean things you had managed to stop saying, to stop thinking, come roaring back with a vengeance.
And no one notices.
Glee club goes on as normal, everything the same as it was the day before.
Rachel Berry notices though.
And you hate her a little bit less for it.
She promises that she'll be there for you, that she'll be strong for you if you break.
And that helps more than a little bit.
You're sixteen the last time it happens.
The last time you think there's something wrong with you.
The last time you think there's something wrong with being different.
Maybe not everyone is like you, maybe other little girls don't dream about marrying pretty blondes who have smiles like the sunshine. Maybe other teenage girls don't fall in love with their best friend, with the girl they've known since forever.
But you do.
And that's more than okay.
Actually, it's a little bit amazing.
This is my first Santana POV. Hopefully it was all right. I don't own Glee or Born This Way. The thing with Rachel making a promise is actually from another one of my fics, a Pezberry friendship oneshot.
Well, just to try to explain this a little bit, I'm bi. And I told one of my friends today. And she told me that I was unnatural. So, if this is particularly bitter, I apologize. I just wanted to write it. Hopefully it wasn't OOC and you guys liked it okay.
Review? Thanks for reading.