Blade (Watty Awards 2013)

Chapter 7- Santana's POV

Chapter 7- Santana’s Pov

I looked in the mirror. Blond hair, brown eyes. I pouted and watched the tears well up in my eyes. This isn’t me. 

Knock Knock.

“Sweet heart open the door, we have to get back on the road.” It’s my Dad’s voice, so I quickly wipe my tears, which are hot and sting my eyes.

“Dad I said I’m coming! I have to piss. Do you want me to do it in your car?” I call back.

“Ok-OK. Sorry. I’ll be waiting in the car, Just make it quick ok.” I hear him walk away. I sighed and pulled down my skirt.

I might as well.

6 hours ago –count- we said goodbye to our small house in Brooklyn New York to move to L.A California. I put on a straight face and pretended not to care that we were moving, again. Just when I was starting to enjoy being Alex. I knew better than to get attached so I don’t know why I did.

I quickly wipe and pull up my skirt and watch my hands again. I exit the bathroom slowly. Don’t draw attention to yourself.  I failed at that terribly.

I notice the clerk staring at me strongly with wide eyes and everything. Gosh she’s not evening trying to hide it.

Be careful.

I grab a bag of gummy bears and try to act like nothing just happened.

“How much for these?” I ask.

“Um, a dollar.” She says. “But I’ll give you two for 1.” I nod and she just stares at me as I grab another bag. “Listen darlin’ If something is up, if something is wrong. You call me.” She hands me a piece of paper with digits on them. “Has that man hurt you or anything?”

“NO!” I say a little to loudly causing a few more stares I mentally kick myself. “No.” I say a little lower. “He’s my father.” I hand her a dollar.

I glance at Dad who is outside by the car smoking.

“It’s just I see kids go missing every day I just want to make sure-“

“I’m fine.” I say though I wasn’t sure I meant it.

“All I know is you were a brunette when you walked in here-“

“Thank you.” I take my bag of gummies and rush out the gas station store.

I don’t know what Dad would do to me if he say me taking to someone for so long. I rip her number in four and throw it in the trash then walk back to Dad’s car.

“What was that about?” He asks. Shit.

“She offered me a two for one.” I said holding up the bags. I learned a long time a ago nothing makes you look guiltier than saying ‘Nothing’ before you answer a question.

“Ok.” He said and hands me his cigarette in trade for a bag of gummies.

“Thanks” I mumble, then we took off driving again.

He ate while I smoked in a comfortable silence though I always felt weird smoking in front of Dad.

“Can you turn on the radio?” I ask.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Cause I’m not much a music fan anymore.”

“Dylan is.”

“Yeah well I’m not Dylan anymore now am i?”

I sit quiet for a moment. “And I’m not Alex anymore.”

“Right.” He replied.

“So who are we now Mr. Man?”

“Thomas and Santana David.” He announces proudly. He looks over and grins at me. I growl.

“How could you give me such a terrible name? ugh. Asshole.”

“Oh, Come on. Santana is  a great name.” He laughs. “I knew it would piss you off. You’re just like your fucking mom.”

“Don’t talk about mom! And you know maybe it’s a great name for you but it sucks for me. Ugh. San-tan-a I sound like a bitch.” I complain.

“But you are a bitch.” He laughs I glare at him.

“Next time I pick the damn names understand Thomas?”

“Ok-Ok. Fair enough.”

We’ve done this so many times I’ve forgotten what my birth name is.

I hope it was something pretty. Like Rose. Or something like that. Something beautiful, because my mom was beautiful and everything she owned was beautiful. She used to own me. So therefore I was once beautiful, simply because I belonged to her.

Not anymore.

I sigh and turn on the radio.

“Drive until you lose the road. OR break with the ones you follow.

He will do one of two things or he’ll say he’s just not the same-“

Dad slaps my hand and turns it back off.

“I said no Al- Santana” He glares.

“Excuse but did I give a fuck? No Dyl- Thomas.” I mock him.

“Don’t talk to me that way!”

“Let me play music then.” I argue.

“When you get a car you can play music until you fucking head explodes but right now this is my car and I said NO!” He yells.

I hate it when he’s I can do whatever I want when I get my own. I hope he knows someday I will.

He puts a hand on my knee and rubs it. I stare at his hand in disgust, completing if I should shove it or take out my pocket knife and stab him. I decide on just staring at it since the knife I too far to reach.

“I’m sorry.” He says sincerely. “’I’ll start over. We’ll start over. I won’t yell at you over stupid things anymore. We’ll start fresh, make new first impressions. Get to know the new us. Promise!”

I know he’s lying.

He ALWAYS lies about these things.

I feel the tears again.

Gosh I hate crying. Crying is for the weak. The vulnerable. I am neither.

“OK.” I say. “New start as Santana and Thomas David. No past. Promise.” I say like I always do.

Our past will always haunt us.