Santana's Diary
So Ms. Pillsbury pulled me into her office today to announce that I needed to start writing in a journal. Apparently she thinks I have some repressed feelings that I need to let loose and that those are the cause of my anger. So that's why I'm doing this. I'm not one of those losers who writes depressing poetry in their journal talking about death. I actually have a life. But Britt's busy tonight at the studio, so this is all I have to do.
I know that High School is not the real world, contrary to popular belief. That's why I thrive there. High School is the most egotistical point in life- or so my father says, but I'm good- hell I'm great- at manipulation. I know how to push people past their breaking points. So I use that. It's not wrong. It's just a way of getting by.
So yeah. I guess you could say I'm a bitch and I'm mean and according to half the school, I'm also a whore. But that works for me. And because of it, I'm protected. I'm protected from slushies and ridicule and the cruelty of teenagers. The more people that are scared of me, the greater my shield. It's so great, in fact, that there is room for one other person in the force-field with me.
That's why I do it - why I'm terrible to geeks and nerds and anyone else I can manage to intimate. I do it for her. She needs someone to shelter her from the outside world. And I'm going to do that for as long as I possibly can. She deserves it.
Brittany's the purest thing in my life. She's my happiness. I don't need anyone else. I don't need the parents who regret me or the "friends" who aren't exactly fond of me. All I need is B, and her ducks, and her body curled next to mine in the middle of the night.
We have our own world, me and Brittany. There are days when we'll just lock all the doors and windows and pretend that we don't live in Lima- pretend we're far away where we won't be judged for loving each other the way we do, where we'll be free. It's those days that we'll spend in the kitchen, eating ice cream out of the freezer and trying to catch cheerios in our mouths. It's simple. My parents are never home anyway so it's own private island away from reality- or Duckie Island as Britt so aptly named it. God I love her.
In my life, I don't think I'll ever be happier than washing dishes with Brittany on a Saturday morning, the air filled with the scent of cookies cooling by the window mixed with the soft vanilla of her skin. Her hands gently lacing with mine under the soapy water as she leans over to place a gentle kiss on my cheek while whispering lovingly in my ear.
That's why I have to be mean. I can't lose that; I can't lose her. And I'm afraid if I let down my guard, even for just a second, the world will swoop in and steal it all away from me. Take away our Saturdays and take away the girl that I love more than anything I've ever known.
So I'll stay a bitch. I'll stay mean and cruel and horrible. Because she's mine. And no one else can have her.
I know that High School is not the real world, contrary to popular belief. That's why I thrive there. High School is the most egotistical point in life- or so my father says, but I'm good- hell I'm great- at manipulation. I know how to push people past their breaking points. So I use that. It's not wrong. It's just a way of getting by.
So yeah. I guess you could say I'm a bitch and I'm mean and according to half the school, I'm also a whore. But that works for me. And because of it, I'm protected. I'm protected from slushies and ridicule and the cruelty of teenagers. The more people that are scared of me, the greater my shield. It's so great, in fact, that there is room for one other person in the force-field with me.
That's why I do it - why I'm terrible to geeks and nerds and anyone else I can manage to intimate. I do it for her. She needs someone to shelter her from the outside world. And I'm going to do that for as long as I possibly can. She deserves it.
Brittany's the purest thing in my life. She's my happiness. I don't need anyone else. I don't need the parents who regret me or the "friends" who aren't exactly fond of me. All I need is B, and her ducks, and her body curled next to mine in the middle of the night.
We have our own world, me and Brittany. There are days when we'll just lock all the doors and windows and pretend that we don't live in Lima- pretend we're far away where we won't be judged for loving each other the way we do, where we'll be free. It's those days that we'll spend in the kitchen, eating ice cream out of the freezer and trying to catch cheerios in our mouths. It's simple. My parents are never home anyway so it's own private island away from reality- or Duckie Island as Britt so aptly named it. God I love her.
In my life, I don't think I'll ever be happier than washing dishes with Brittany on a Saturday morning, the air filled with the scent of cookies cooling by the window mixed with the soft vanilla of her skin. Her hands gently lacing with mine under the soapy water as she leans over to place a gentle kiss on my cheek while whispering lovingly in my ear.
That's why I have to be mean. I can't lose that; I can't lose her. And I'm afraid if I let down my guard, even for just a second, the world will swoop in and steal it all away from me. Take away our Saturdays and take away the girl that I love more than anything I've ever known.
So I'll stay a bitch. I'll stay mean and cruel and horrible. Because she's mine. And no one else can have her.