Am I a bad person? I ask myself that a lot. Every day, I hear some little, freshman loser say how much she hates me and I ask myself if I'm really that bad. I think I'm great. I rule this school. Not a single girl is as wanted and worshiped as I am. I'm like Regina George, only without the bus and scheming home-schooled African wanna-be that ruins my life. I have Santana though, which is actually a lot worse.
Ever since I revealed her boob job to Coach Sylvester, she has been at the bottom of the pyramid and pouting away. She's the only reason I'll ever answer that I a bad person. Why? Well, I enjoy watching Santana suffer like this. I have my reasons so I'm not just a complete bitch.
Quinn Fabray's top reasons for torturing Santana Lopez:
1) Santana has someone even if she doesn't show it and I have nothing but this phantom sting every time a Gerber commercial airs.
2) She slept with Finn and that's just not okay.
3) She flaunts those effing boobs every chance she gets. She honestly walked around in her bikini top for two weeks straight. I found it very hard to get anything done when people would constantly stop and stare at her.
4) That bitch thinks she's awesome. She needs to be knocked down a peg. And then another one. And another until she's begging at my feet for her to be back in my good graces. So far, the only begging she has done was for me to shoot Jacob Ben Israel on the first day of school. Of course, I declined, but that's only because I can't win Prom Queen with a criminal record.
Sue's sharp bark interrupts my list. I fight the urge to roll my eyes and turn to the leader of all that is wrong with humanity. She stands with her hands on her hips. Her stupid megaphone covers her typical sneer.
I bounce over to her. "Yes, Coach?"
"Spongeboob over here seems to be having some trouble holding up the bottom of the pyramid. Maybe you can go straighten her out and send her back without the sass," Sue says. It sounds like a suggestion, but everyone knows that's not what it is. I doubt the rest of the squad realizes that it's Sue going soft though. She's letting San out when she should just make her do laps until she passes out in a pool of her own sweat. Sadly, Sue loves San as much as she loves me and B. We're like the kids she'll never have because she had her ovaries taken out.
I say to Sue, "Maybe we should just leave her there. Let her back just get used to the pressure. I'm sure all the time lying on it has just made this too hard for her."
Santana is up in an instant. The rest of the squad looks amongst themselves in shock and amusement. Glad to know they like hearing this. They should be glad she's finally being forced to deal with what she deserves.
"Take it outside, Quinn," Sue responds, completely ignoring what I said. It's okay. I'm sure everyone else won't.
Santana keeps her cool as she quickly heads to where I'm standing. We maintain the civility until we're out the doors of the gym. The deep brown door to that world shuts closed seconds before my back hits the wall. I wince. She scowls. Nothing new.
"What is your problem, Fabray?" Santana asks. She shoves me again to punctuate it. Her Lima Heights ghetto routine gets old pretty fast. Why does she even believe she can handle a fight? She'd get her ass kicked.
"I don't have one. Not since all of your filthy sweat is dripping onto the ground and not onto my perfection," I say.
She rolls her eyes. "So obsessed with perfect. What if I told Sue about your nose job? How perfect are you then?"
I don't reach for it. My gaze falters down for a moment, but I do not shield my nose. Why hide it? I have nothing to hide. At least, not from San.
"My nose was the size of Mt. Rushmore. Now, your tits are. Mine helps breathing and singing, whereas yours helps keep you afloat in the unlikely event of a water landing," I say.
"You're just jealous that people are looking at me. You can never stand when anyone else is in the spotlight. I don't care what Schuester says. You're a little bitch who's too insecure to let her friends be happy."
"And you're a dumb bitch whose new boobs will only make it harder to balance when she's on her knees."
Santana crosses her arms defiantly. She declares, "Santana Lopez doesn't get on her knees for anyone."
"Oh, so you make B do all the work?" I ask with an innocent grin. She falters. Then her arms tighten and she steps towards me.
"Don't ever say that again," she grounds out.
"Say what? It's not like I'm giving away anything as most of the school has slept with you already," I mention.
"I'm not a slut!"
"That's what they all say," I singsong. I go to step around her, but she pushes me back into the locker. Hard. I consider saying something about her liking it rough. Her face is right in front of mine before I can, sucking in all of the oxygen that should be going to my brain. Everything spins as all the blood in my body rushes there. Or does it run South?
She breathes out and I stop doing so altogether. She grumbles, "Keep it up, Q, and I'm going to start believing you're jealous."
I manage a scoff and a sputtered, "Of what?"
"I don't know. Of me because I'm not chasing after Finnjivitus or his new blonde copycat." She smirks for just a second. "Or maybe you're jealous of them and Britt."
"Not a chance!"
"Oh really?" Her hand slides slowly down my waist, fingers dusting until they reach mid-thigh and stop on my bare skin. It's disgust that has me shaking. Fear of being molested that has my skin damp. Santana isn't one to take no for an answer after all. The other hand moves up from my waist until she's drawing little circles on my arm. I don't recall her moving even closer, but her lips brush my ear when she continues speaking. "I'm pretty sure that you're just another girl that's curious about how I got my reputation. You want to know if I'm as good as they say. I've been told I'm better than Puck. Better than any guy. You can't take your eyes off me. You want to know what it's like to be in my bed, to be touched and cherished and wanted. You want me. Don't you?"
Why is my head moving? Why is my entire body humming? Damn these hormones. Damn her.
She chuckles and takes a step back. Air rushes at me, cool and fulfilling to my lungs. It seems to stop as she says, "Shame you can't screw below your level on the pyramid. Have fun with your hand, Q." She turns and heads back into the gym.
I stand there for a few minutes, trying to regain all of the composure that apparently just abandoned me. Instead, I keep up with another thing for my list.
5) She's a fucking tease.