For all Santana knew, it was Wednesday. Or maybe it was Monday? Screw it. She didn't need to know the day of her demise. The sky was darker than she had ever seen it at 7 am. Branches gently swayed across her window as soft petals from her garden drifted onto the ground. With a soft sigh, Santana rested her head back onto her pillow. It had been a gift from her dad, for her twenty-second birthday. Yes, it was weird to get a pillow for her birthday, but she hadn't complained, and she wouldn't now. Her family was- what was the word- eccentric. Plus, the pillow was honestly the most comfortable thing she had ever rested her head upon. Secretly, she sometimes even snuggled her pillow.
Which brought on another point: Santana was lonely. In the passing year, she had broken up with her boyfriend of five months, gotten summer vacation from her job, and probably joined the Wanderers in Abtastic, Neglecting, Kicking Youth—W.A.N.K.Y. Except for she could barely be classified as well-off and kicking nowadays. She was also one of youth no longer. Over the years at her high-paying accounting firm, she had developed insomnia, and even snuggling her trusted pillow had not alleviated her problem.
Another problem of Santana's was that on this particular day, on Wednesday or Monday or whatever, she had scheduled a lunch meeting with her best friend, Quinn Fabray. Despite the blonde being a wonderful friend, Quinn was always filled with rage everytime a meeting was set up, complained left and right. And today, Santana really didn't want to deal with it.
It was her doomsday. This day marked the seventh anniversary, if you can call it that, of her parents' marriage breakdown. They still remained good friends, but what was wrecked was already wrecked. It would've been fine, if not for the fact that today was also the day that left a sharp pain in her. Noah Puckerman, her brother-from-another-mother, was called in back for duty. Puck, as he liked to be called, was an Army man, and had come back the previous time with scars of war. She desperately didn't want him to join back into the battlefield, but as always, duty calls.
That's pretty much why she, a woman with 24 years and 24 phone numbers under her belt, finally realized her true calling. With a determination of a warrior, she flew off the bed, fell on her ass, picked herself up, and started packing. Throwing clothes into her suitcase, she put on her battleface and carried out her plan. She was to leave for the airport today, buy some tickets with her wealth and connections, and ditch Quinn. That hormonal woman probably needed it. From looking at her calendar, Santana saw that she had marked these two weeks as "code red" (to avoid Quinn at all costs, due to her monthly blood stream). Thank god. With a salute to her apartment, she skipped out of her apartment complex in New York City, almost tripping on her way. But as always, God made her look good. With her skills, she got a cab in record time, 10 minutes. During that time, she got some weird stares from those on the street. Apparently, in her rush, she had forgotten to get changed out of her Spiderman pajamas. Well, whatever. She was still attractive, no matter her outfit.
It seemed as if nothing could stop her now.
Not even Quinn.