#self.001

Santana woke with a start at promptly seven o’clock - as per usual.

Santana woke with a sweet relief - that was unusual.

Santana than drowned in an anxiety cloaked as vile that churned her stomach. It was empty of any edible contents so it was quickly and easily gutted like a snake slinking inside a beauty queen’s pill bottle insides - that was usual.

A quick dash into the bathroom the vile was gone, she was cleansed, light again - that was usual.  

Then the unusual struck; she wasn’t at the Lopez residence, but Evans. And there it was again, a sweet serenade of peace that she couldn’t quite swallow. Too large, too rough, too unusual, unwelcomed - she say’s the last ‘statement’, with a big bright question mark at the end - but silently, metaphorically, she smothered the feeling close to her chest. She wasn’t ready to lose it just yet. It was nice, even if it felt like the sweet confusing relief she saw in a stranger’s eyes once who was dehydrated to the point his mouth was thick with dryness when her brother handed him a cold glass of water with glass shards in it in the midst of the torture he had been ensuing on the stranger. The tortured stranger seemed thankful, but crazed with the thought: when would it end? Unlike that stranger, though, Santana wasn’t asking such a question because she had glass shards to pass, but because hope always ended - abruptly.

Santana woke with a start at promptly seven o’clock - as per usual.

Santana woke with a sweet relief - that was unusual.

Santana than drowned in an anxiety cloaked as vile that churned her stomach; empty of any edible contents, it was quickly gutted like a snake slinking inside a beauty queen’s pill bottle insides - that was usual.

A quick dash into the bathroom the vile was gone, she was cleansed, light again - that was usual.  

Then the unusual struck; she wasn’t at the Lopez residence, but Evans. And there it was again, a sweet serenade of peace that she couldn’t quite swallow. Too large, too rough, too unusual, unwelcomed - she say’s the last ‘statement’, with a big bright question mark at the end - but silently, metaphorically, she smothered the feeling close to her chest. She wasn’t ready to lose it just yet. It was nice, even if it felt like the sweet confusing relief she saw in a stranger’s eyes once who was dehydrated to the point his mouth was thick with dryness when her brother handed him a cold glass of water with glass shards in it in the midst of the torture he had been ensuing on the stranger. He seemed thankful, but crazed with the thought: when would it end? Unlike that stranger though Santana wasn’t asking such a question because she had glass shards to pass, but because hope always ended - abruptly.

There were two things that really ruffled Santana’s feathers - well no, there was a lot, actually - BUT there was truly only two things that could get her in this state - red-hot revenge -  was messing with her, or messing with Brittney. 

Snix had taken over the moment she heard Brittney had been slushied. Besides the fact she was Co-Captain of the Cheerios, as in OFF-limits, she was also her best friend - her person. Snix, always her bitch in shining armor, knew how to center the atomic bomb of fury that blazed through her petite frame. Plug the piles of electric cables buzzing with fury in every cell of her body, so she could think, plot, plan, and execute. 

Which is exactly why, all dressed in black, she was entering the school with the keys she swiped from the janitor. It was simple, just two contraptions. One to fling enough slushi it would stain them like a Lush soap gone wrong. And glitter - lots of glitter - to explode onto them in a mass cloud that would not only startle them, but mask them in a gooey, icy, sparkling case of shame. Served them right.

 It only took a few hours to do it all. Place an already constructed device into their lockers, which unclasped quickly with the few tricks Santana had picked up from one of her troubled cousins. It was all easy really. 

So, the next day when the bell rang to signal the end of school, igniting once still hallways to be filled with students and a blur of noise, Santana, instead chose to walk through the crowd in a slow stroll. The corner of her lips tipped upwards in glee, were tainted with wickedness. Dark eyes sparkled with excitement, but still, there just wasn’t something right about it. And to anyone that noticed, they only had to speculate for a few moments, because the exceptional blast of red thick globs of slush, and silver sparkles, not to mention the loud low grunts from two hockey players, then of course, the wave of laughter, and awe that stampeded through the crowd; it was obvious, Santana had got her revenge.