FIC: Nameless (gLee, spoilers for Ep 3x06)
Ok, so this is my FIRST Glee fic
Title: Nameless
Fandom: Glee
Disclaimer: If I owned Glee, I wouldn't bother with LJ, I'd be all up on Fox with this!….ok ok fine, I do not own Glee, just Kendra Doorman.
Rating: M (to be safe)
Characters: Santana L., OFC
Warnings: DARK CONTENT AND TRIGGERS: Bullying, Homophobia, Non-Con, Mental Illness, implied Suicidal thoughts, Sexual Harassment, Threats of Sexual Assault
SPOILERS FOR 3X06
Summary: A look at Santana from the eyes of one of her many victims she will never apologize to.
A/N: This fic is actually a response to my own prompt that I took in a different direction. And because I'm kind of tired of Santana's hypocrisy in not owning up to her actions, and her expecting something for nothing.
My name was... is...
My name is Kendra Doorman.
You have no idea how hard it is for me to say my own name. I hope you never do. Or your kids.
It's really an ordinary name, but very special to me. My Dad was very close to my Great Aunt Kendra, so naturally he named me after her.
Other than my father, there was no other person in the world I trusted more or felt safe with. I love her. She became a mother to me after my own died when I was two, and we were especially close before her passing five years back.
My name was special to me, it was my name.
Until Santana Lopez took it, and twisted it during my freshman (and only) year at William McKinley High School.
The only time I ever spoke to her was to tell her to leave a random (and kinda big-nosed actually) girl alone. I apparently should have known that high school has its politics and social tiers. That certain people get to dictate what you wear, who you hang out with, what your rights are - or rather, the rights you don't have.
Three days after I called Santana out, she yelled out, in front of the entire jock/cheerleader population, how much fun I had last Saturday night at captain of the hockey team, Trey Gandy's house.
I never even met Trey. I'd never even held a boy's hand before - didn't matter.
"Really Kondom Doormat? 'Cause Trey and all the other puckheads know you. Everybody got a peak at what you're hiding under your mat."
Quinn Fabray snorted, "Kondom Doormat! That's funny!"
Everybody else thought so too, because from then on, I wasn't Kendra anymore. Everybody that bothered to talk to me called me Kondom, I was their Doormat; even the teachers slipped once in a while from constantly hearing what everybody called me.
It was so stupid, it wasn't even that creative! Didn't matter.
All it took was three sentences out of Santana Lopez's mouth, and that was it for me at McKinley.
My name, what I treasured about myself, my last link to Aunt Kendra, was gone.
I really wish I could say it stopped there, even though it shouldn't have started in the first place.
But why stop there when there was clearly more to take?
Santana Lopez went first and took my name.
The student body stood up next and took my dignity - they left obscene texts on my phone, messages on my Facebook wall, there was no bathroom in McKinley that didn't have my name with a tally of how many STDs I supposedly carried or abortions I had.
The Jocks came last and took my rights - the rights to my body, to my respect, and finally, to my safety.
There wasn't a day that didn't go by I wasn't randomly groped by a stranger in a letterman jacket, too fast for a teacher to see or care. Not one day.
Then all there was, was fear... It's the fear that's the worst.
I was in a constant state of fear, on the defense just waiting for the next insult or grope. And knowing I had absolutely no power to stop it. And no one else cared.
On what ended up being my last day at McKinley, four jocks cornered me and starting telling me what they'd like me to do to them, and stop complaining, since I was hockey team's blow up doll, why not try being the football's? When I tried to get away they'd crowd or just shove me back up against the lockers, not caring that I was sobbing and hardly able to breathe at this point. They ran off when they heard Sue's voice screeching at her cheerios to clean the lint off their uniforms.
Later that night a group of guys left a message on the house line saying if I wanted to be gang-raped, meet them in the boys locker room tomorrow. In fact, they'd show me the way there.
My dad finally pulled me out of school. He was the one that heard the message first, too.
You wouldn't believe how many people said it wasn't a big deal (or maybe you would) - administrators, staff, parents, the cops (the students go without saying).
I wasn't beaten, I wasn't raped.
No evidence, no proof - no crime.
And what did I expect?
The stalkerazzis drove someone as popular and rich as Britney Spears to a public nervous breakdown, and nobody protected her. Nobody ever punished them.
So why would the people who could help bother to step in for a nameless, faceless girl like me?
By the time McKinley was done with me, I went from Kendra Doorman, a confident and carefree girl whose daddy loved her, to nothing.
I had no name, I had no dignity, I had no rights.
I had and was nothing.
I was home schooled for over a year because I couldn't leave the house for four months straight.
I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and going to therapy 4 times a week, and don't forget the fun task of having to figure out which dosage works best for your ever changing adolescent body.
It took six months before I could say my name out-loud, and another four before I could stop shaking after saying it. I'm not sure how long it will take before I stop internally cringing at the sound of it.
I spent that whole year obsessively pouring over names and carefully sounding them out, trying to figure out the worst insults you can come up with to determine which wouldn't bother me. I'd never thought I'd be glad Aunt Kendra was gone, asking my dad to change my name would be hard enough, there's no way I could stand to see the heartbreak in her eyes. She's in Heaven, and in Heaven you don't see the bad things, so she'd never know, right?
The Yellow Ribbon Program was a godsend. They're also affiliated with my new school, Crawford Country Day. The fraternal school Dalton also has some amazing guys.
I forgot good people existed. For a moment too, I completely believed Aunt Kendra never existed, she was a complete delusion that my damaged mind created to survive because no such people existed.
It's been over two years and I can say my name out-loud, I stumble a little, but I can. And there are people I trust. More and more often I'm seeing the girl I used to be in the mirror, even if it's still a long way away.
But yesterday….
I saw that mudsling campaign on Coach Sylvester and Santana on youtube. Most of my friends (God love their loyalty), once I'd worked up the courage to tell them what she and the other kids at school had done to me, couldn't wait to take me back to the privacy of our dorms to show me.
I saw it.
It was edited to start off with a greeting page that read "To Kendra, we love you!"
I watched it…...
Everybody thinks about getting revenge on their bullies, or switching places with them and what we'd do when they get what's coming to them. We'd celebrate, we'd laugh in their faces and bookmark the youtube sites for however long it was up.
But the reality is nothing like you picture.
If you had told me back then that one day Santana Lopez would get what was coming to her, I would have marked the day on my calendar. Because I honestly believed when this day came, I would be ROFLMAOing with my friends like nobody's business, that I'd feel this high that no prescription could kill. I'd feel justified.
Ok, maybe I feel a little justified, I was a victim, and I'm only human.
Especially after what Vienna's cousin told her (her cousin's that Perez Hilton wannabe Jacob ben Israel… yeah I know…). He said Finn Hudson's public repeat an old rumor about Santana apparently had this domino effect, and that their circle of underdog friends hold him responsible for what that dirty politician did, and expect him to apologize. I personally find it hypocritical that she might expect an apology, when she'll never give one herself.
If Hudson's responsible for what someone else did, imagine what can be laid at her feet.
Me? I don't have to imagine.
Yeah, Hudson did wrong, but you know what's scary? I find myself wondering, if I had this gem in my non-existent arsenal during that time… God, what would I have done? Even if it's not who I want to be, I can't safely say I wouldn't have used it against her… and enjoyed it. I'm not proud of it, but it's the truth.
Because putting a weapon in your victims hand, while you attack them, and then expecting them to NOT use it?
Plain. Stupid.
There are good women in prison because their abusers pushed them too far, too often….
Still….. In spite of all this, I don't feel like I thought I would.
Don't get me wrong, I'm a little bitter, I think I've got a right to be…Santana Lopez did me wrong, and she will never be held accountable. But I'll be damned if I leave my recovery up to her slutty ass suddenly growing a conscience.
Because I thought that when this day came I'd sit back and laugh - I can't. That's not who I am, or who I want to be. Especially now. One of things that got me through the aftermath was the promise I made to myself that I wouldn't let what was done to me change me, and I work every day to keep that promise.
I don't want her to suffer the real horrors that can come from this, with her ending up a tragic statistic on the news.
And she won't. Oh believe me, Santana will feel and deserve every drop of fear and anxiety of all the things that could possibly happen, but won't. Like her or not, Sue Sylvester is the real Queen Bitch and won't let anything happen to her Cheerio captain. Neither will her glee club friends.
Eventually she'll get over her fears and she'll be okay, like I am and continue to be, probably a lot sooner too.
But she had it coming.
Like Batman said to Ra's al Ghul - he wouldn't kill him, but he didn't have to save him.
I'm not happy this happened to her. I don't want anything horrible to happen to her. I shouldn't, and I don't.
But I don't have to feel sorry for her - and I don't.
You reap what you sow; and Santana Lopez has got a harvest to solve world hunger.
So be safe Santana Lopez, I genuinely hope you come out okay, and for your sake (and the rest of the people unfortunate enough to know or meet you) that you learn a lesson you should have learned a long time ago, and it is this:
Nobody is a bigger bitch than Kharma. Not even Santana Lopez.
Title: Nameless
Fandom: Glee
Disclaimer: If I owned Glee, I wouldn't bother with LJ, I'd be all up on Fox with this!….ok ok fine, I do not own Glee, just Kendra Doorman.
Rating: M (to be safe)
Characters: Santana L., OFC
Warnings: DARK CONTENT AND TRIGGERS: Bullying, Homophobia, Non-Con, Mental Illness, implied Suicidal thoughts, Sexual Harassment, Threats of Sexual Assault
SPOILERS FOR 3X06
Summary: A look at Santana from the eyes of one of her many victims she will never apologize to.
A/N: This fic is actually a response to my own prompt that I took in a different direction. And because I'm kind of tired of Santana's hypocrisy in not owning up to her actions, and her expecting something for nothing.
My name was... is...
My name is Kendra Doorman.
You have no idea how hard it is for me to say my own name. I hope you never do. Or your kids.
It's really an ordinary name, but very special to me. My Dad was very close to my Great Aunt Kendra, so naturally he named me after her.
Other than my father, there was no other person in the world I trusted more or felt safe with. I love her. She became a mother to me after my own died when I was two, and we were especially close before her passing five years back.
My name was special to me, it was my name.
Until Santana Lopez took it, and twisted it during my freshman (and only) year at William McKinley High School.
The only time I ever spoke to her was to tell her to leave a random (and kinda big-nosed actually) girl alone. I apparently should have known that high school has its politics and social tiers. That certain people get to dictate what you wear, who you hang out with, what your rights are - or rather, the rights you don't have.
Three days after I called Santana out, she yelled out, in front of the entire jock/cheerleader population, how much fun I had last Saturday night at captain of the hockey team, Trey Gandy's house.
I never even met Trey. I'd never even held a boy's hand before - didn't matter.
"Really Kondom Doormat? 'Cause Trey and all the other puckheads know you. Everybody got a peak at what you're hiding under your mat."
Quinn Fabray snorted, "Kondom Doormat! That's funny!"
Everybody else thought so too, because from then on, I wasn't Kendra anymore. Everybody that bothered to talk to me called me Kondom, I was their Doormat; even the teachers slipped once in a while from constantly hearing what everybody called me.
It was so stupid, it wasn't even that creative! Didn't matter.
All it took was three sentences out of Santana Lopez's mouth, and that was it for me at McKinley.
My name, what I treasured about myself, my last link to Aunt Kendra, was gone.
I really wish I could say it stopped there, even though it shouldn't have started in the first place.
But why stop there when there was clearly more to take?
Santana Lopez went first and took my name.
The student body stood up next and took my dignity - they left obscene texts on my phone, messages on my Facebook wall, there was no bathroom in McKinley that didn't have my name with a tally of how many STDs I supposedly carried or abortions I had.
The Jocks came last and took my rights - the rights to my body, to my respect, and finally, to my safety.
There wasn't a day that didn't go by I wasn't randomly groped by a stranger in a letterman jacket, too fast for a teacher to see or care. Not one day.
Then all there was, was fear... It's the fear that's the worst.
I was in a constant state of fear, on the defense just waiting for the next insult or grope. And knowing I had absolutely no power to stop it. And no one else cared.
On what ended up being my last day at McKinley, four jocks cornered me and starting telling me what they'd like me to do to them, and stop complaining, since I was hockey team's blow up doll, why not try being the football's? When I tried to get away they'd crowd or just shove me back up against the lockers, not caring that I was sobbing and hardly able to breathe at this point. They ran off when they heard Sue's voice screeching at her cheerios to clean the lint off their uniforms.
Later that night a group of guys left a message on the house line saying if I wanted to be gang-raped, meet them in the boys locker room tomorrow. In fact, they'd show me the way there.
My dad finally pulled me out of school. He was the one that heard the message first, too.
You wouldn't believe how many people said it wasn't a big deal (or maybe you would) - administrators, staff, parents, the cops (the students go without saying).
I wasn't beaten, I wasn't raped.
No evidence, no proof - no crime.
And what did I expect?
The stalkerazzis drove someone as popular and rich as Britney Spears to a public nervous breakdown, and nobody protected her. Nobody ever punished them.
So why would the people who could help bother to step in for a nameless, faceless girl like me?
By the time McKinley was done with me, I went from Kendra Doorman, a confident and carefree girl whose daddy loved her, to nothing.
I had no name, I had no dignity, I had no rights.
I had and was nothing.
I was home schooled for over a year because I couldn't leave the house for four months straight.
I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and going to therapy 4 times a week, and don't forget the fun task of having to figure out which dosage works best for your ever changing adolescent body.
It took six months before I could say my name out-loud, and another four before I could stop shaking after saying it. I'm not sure how long it will take before I stop internally cringing at the sound of it.
I spent that whole year obsessively pouring over names and carefully sounding them out, trying to figure out the worst insults you can come up with to determine which wouldn't bother me. I'd never thought I'd be glad Aunt Kendra was gone, asking my dad to change my name would be hard enough, there's no way I could stand to see the heartbreak in her eyes. She's in Heaven, and in Heaven you don't see the bad things, so she'd never know, right?
The Yellow Ribbon Program was a godsend. They're also affiliated with my new school, Crawford Country Day. The fraternal school Dalton also has some amazing guys.
I forgot good people existed. For a moment too, I completely believed Aunt Kendra never existed, she was a complete delusion that my damaged mind created to survive because no such people existed.
It's been over two years and I can say my name out-loud, I stumble a little, but I can. And there are people I trust. More and more often I'm seeing the girl I used to be in the mirror, even if it's still a long way away.
But yesterday….
I saw that mudsling campaign on Coach Sylvester and Santana on youtube. Most of my friends (God love their loyalty), once I'd worked up the courage to tell them what she and the other kids at school had done to me, couldn't wait to take me back to the privacy of our dorms to show me.
I saw it.
It was edited to start off with a greeting page that read "To Kendra, we love you!"
I watched it…...
Everybody thinks about getting revenge on their bullies, or switching places with them and what we'd do when they get what's coming to them. We'd celebrate, we'd laugh in their faces and bookmark the youtube sites for however long it was up.
But the reality is nothing like you picture.
If you had told me back then that one day Santana Lopez would get what was coming to her, I would have marked the day on my calendar. Because I honestly believed when this day came, I would be ROFLMAOing with my friends like nobody's business, that I'd feel this high that no prescription could kill. I'd feel justified.
Ok, maybe I feel a little justified, I was a victim, and I'm only human.
Especially after what Vienna's cousin told her (her cousin's that Perez Hilton wannabe Jacob ben Israel… yeah I know…). He said Finn Hudson's public repeat an old rumor about Santana apparently had this domino effect, and that their circle of underdog friends hold him responsible for what that dirty politician did, and expect him to apologize. I personally find it hypocritical that she might expect an apology, when she'll never give one herself.
If Hudson's responsible for what someone else did, imagine what can be laid at her feet.
Me? I don't have to imagine.
Yeah, Hudson did wrong, but you know what's scary? I find myself wondering, if I had this gem in my non-existent arsenal during that time… God, what would I have done? Even if it's not who I want to be, I can't safely say I wouldn't have used it against her… and enjoyed it. I'm not proud of it, but it's the truth.
Because putting a weapon in your victims hand, while you attack them, and then expecting them to NOT use it?
Plain. Stupid.
There are good women in prison because their abusers pushed them too far, too often….
Still….. In spite of all this, I don't feel like I thought I would.
Don't get me wrong, I'm a little bitter, I think I've got a right to be…Santana Lopez did me wrong, and she will never be held accountable. But I'll be damned if I leave my recovery up to her slutty ass suddenly growing a conscience.
Because I thought that when this day came I'd sit back and laugh - I can't. That's not who I am, or who I want to be. Especially now. One of things that got me through the aftermath was the promise I made to myself that I wouldn't let what was done to me change me, and I work every day to keep that promise.
I don't want her to suffer the real horrors that can come from this, with her ending up a tragic statistic on the news.
And she won't. Oh believe me, Santana will feel and deserve every drop of fear and anxiety of all the things that could possibly happen, but won't. Like her or not, Sue Sylvester is the real Queen Bitch and won't let anything happen to her Cheerio captain. Neither will her glee club friends.
Eventually she'll get over her fears and she'll be okay, like I am and continue to be, probably a lot sooner too.
But she had it coming.
Like Batman said to Ra's al Ghul - he wouldn't kill him, but he didn't have to save him.
I'm not happy this happened to her. I don't want anything horrible to happen to her. I shouldn't, and I don't.
But I don't have to feel sorry for her - and I don't.
You reap what you sow; and Santana Lopez has got a harvest to solve world hunger.
So be safe Santana Lopez, I genuinely hope you come out okay, and for your sake (and the rest of the people unfortunate enough to know or meet you) that you learn a lesson you should have learned a long time ago, and it is this:
Nobody is a bigger bitch than Kharma. Not even Santana Lopez.