10 Reasons Why I Hate Santana Lopez

Reason 10

Finally, the last reason I hate Santana Lopez is because she single-handedly sabotaged my twenty-first birthday. Sure, there are more reasons why I hate her but I'm running out of toilet paper to write on, and I'm getting really drowsy.

Anyways, I had already given up on the hope that my birthday would be enjoyable. She's already ruined everything in my life. Why should I have expected any different this time around? The night before my birthday I didn't bother with setting the alarm. I just knew that Santana would come to me in the morning and sure enough when I awoke the next day she was sitting at the foot of my bed sipping her venti green tea frap while playing sudoku on her phone.

"Get dressed cocksucker," she didn't even look up from her phone to insult me. But I didn't care. Seeing her face so early in the morning was enough to ruin my day. So instead I just snatched her drink and proceeded to do as told. I had foreseen her kidnapping me for the day, so I had submitted my assignments ahead of time, straight up telling my professors that the devil had plans for me and she's a scary ass bitch. One of them had the gall to laugh and say his wife was frightening too.

First, she took me to breakfast at some hole in the wall cafe. I couldn't get mad about that because the coffee was pretty damn good and the blueberry blintzes were the best I had ever had. Then she dragged me from department to store to department store to try on outfit after outfit of her choosing while she too tried on clothes. I didn't understand why she was doing this, but sometimes you just have to let the crazy run its course. It was either she didn't like what I wore, she hated what she tried on, or our outfits didn't match each other. It wasn't until we had walked into Express that I bothered to ask her what the point of all this was.

"We need to look good at the club tonight," she smirked as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"We're going clubbing? But you're not even twenty-one yet."

"Fake ID, dumbass" she sighed, pulling me into the store. Finally, she settled on a backless red mini dress, effectively choosing my outfit for me as she brought a pair of black trousers with matching blazer, a red silk v-neck t-shirt, and black high top sneakers with her to the register. She handed me my bag, and I noticed she had two bags instead of the one I assumed carried her dress. Whatever, I was tired and didn't care about her additional purchases.

By the time we finished shopping it was already late into the afternoon so, according to her, we had to eat and get ready for the night at her apartment so we could make it to the club to meet our friends on time. She lived in a decently sized one bedroom apartment instead of her school dorms because, in her words exactly, "bitches be crazy." Yeah, I know...

When we got to her place, she ushered me into the dining area, telling me to sit like a good girl while she heated up dinner. So I did as she said while watching her rummage about the kitchen. If I were honest, I would say that it was a little heartwarming watching her fuss around in the kitchen heating food on the stove and in the oven. She was pretty cute doing something as simple as preparing dinner.

I was so lost in thought that I didn't even notice when she placed a plate of food before me. "Spaghetti and meatballs?"

She shrugged and returned to the kitchen. "Yeah, it's one of your favorites, isn't it? I called your mom for her recipe, and I even made garlic bread on Dutch crunch, just like you like it. You prefer it to regular French bread" she said over her shoulder as she tidied the kitchen.

I considered the food before deciding that she liked me too much to poison me. As I took a bite, I asked her why she went through the trouble.

"Why wouldn't I? You're my best friend after all" she smiled. It was an actual smile.

I shuddered. "Are you feeling alright?" I asked, slightly worried if a storm was brewing in her mind.

"Actually, I'm feeling a little nauseated so I'm gonna pass on food. You eat, and I'll go ahead and get ready for tonight. You can have the bathroom after me". And with that, she swept out of the kitchen.

Santana was acting beyond strange, and it disconcerted me. Not because I was worried about her but because I feared for my life. I thought she was trying to give me one last good day before she offed me. She never takes me out for breakfast or buys me clothes or asks my mom how to cook my favorite foods. She was planning something, and I was sure it was murder.

I ate quickly and got dressed even faster. If this was going to be my last day on earth I wanted to get it over with fast. I couldn't handle my last memories being of Santana acting kindly towards me. So when we got to the club, I avoided her and drowned myself in booze and the surrounding women. If this was my last day, I wanted to know what it was like to be around women other than Santana Lopez. The only problem was that I couldn't keep her off of my mind. I kept glancing back at her, but she never moved from her spot at the bar where she ignored the people around her while keeping her eyes glued to me. For once, I couldn't say for sure that I could tell what she was thinking.

Within a few hours, I was completely wasted, chatting up a pretty blonde and throwing back another beer. The light hand landing on my shoulder didn't even process before Santana's voice reached my ears. "Sebastian, it's time to go. You're going to be sick if you keep at it," Santana softly stated as she tried to pull the bottle out of my grasp.

"Aww," I whined, "but Michelle here was just telling me a funny story."

"Yeah, let me finish. I'll even take care of him for the rest of the night if you're worried about him" the girl said in a sickly sweet voice.

Even through my alcohol induced haze, I could make out the glare Santana threw at the blonde. "No thanks honey, but I'm taking him home now. I'm sure there is a half-witted man with questionable morals and low standards around here who would be thrilled to hear the rest of whatever silly joke you were going to say while giggling like a prepubescent teen."

A snort escaped my drunken lips, finding humor in Santana's cold words as she hauled me out of the club and into a taxi. "You know," I dropped my head into her lap once we were in the back seat of the car, "you can be really mean sometimes."

She patted my head. "Go to sleep, you're drunk," she said in a voice that I could barely hear.

I poked her cheek, "I'm not drunk. You're drunk! You're being too nice and you're pretty."

"Shut-up" she pushed my hand away from her face. When the taxi stopped, she pulled me out and supported me all the way up to her apartment. She even took me into the bathroom and set me down on the floor next to the toilet, into which I threw up immediately.

And that's where I am now, writing this stupid list on toilet paper that I may or may not have used to wipe some vomit off of my face. I don't even know where Santana is now. She's probably waiting outside of the door to stab me with a kitchen knife. I want to fucking cry! Why couldn't she have been cruel to me today? Because now I'm feeling certain ways about her and it's driving me fucking crazy! She drives me crazy... Santana Lopez drives me crazy.