Pain. [1/1]
Title: Pain.
Rating: R [for self-harm]
Author: gabbie217
Pairings: Rachel/Santana
Summary: Rachel is breaking and Santana doesn't know what to do.
Disclaimer: I regret nothing. I own nothing.
Author's Note: This is the result of a craving for angst and trying to overcome writers block.
Pain.
It reminds us that we are still capable of feeling. Without pain what are we? For every other emotion would have no value if there was never pain to balance it out. Pain makes pleasure that much sweeter. Makes happiness that much more valuable. It keeps the world in check. Reminds us that not everything is perfect and that we should be grateful for the good thing and appreciate the struggles that helps us to learn and grow.
For this reason, she draws a blade across her arm in a neat line, hissing at the familiar sting of her flesh opening under the sharp edge. She wants to feel. Needs to know she is still alive and is not just some aimless, soulless wanderer. Her heart thumps feebly as her body registers the pain from the razor. She smiles sadly at the fact that not even cutting her arms and watching the beads of blood drip down her arm is working. She supposes she does it too much. Perhaps it is time to move to bigger areas. Bigger arteries. Her dad was a doctor, she knew which ones could bleed but not do any damage. No permanent damage at least.
Spreading her legs, the girl examined the insides of her thighs. If she was careful enough, this patch of flesh would work nicely. With a sick sense if humor, she giggled and brought the razor to the surface of her skin and pressed down, eliciting a sharp gasp at the onslaught of sharp shooting pain. Blood gushed from the new break of skin, and more followed as she lazily drew a shaky line with the razor.
Weak now, the blade fell from her limp fingers and she leaned against the porcelain sink, relishing the rush of emotions and the high of what she had done. Her eyes were half-lidded and a small smile graced her weary features. She breathed shallowly, relieved that she was still alive. That she could still feel. That no one had broken her just yet. Maybe this meant she would live another day. Survive another day. And maybe one day, someone would make her feel so she’d stop having to do it herself.
~*~
Santana Lopez was not a nice girl. She didn't sympathize with or cater to other people’s emotions. In fact, she usually mocked them. All because she couldn't face up to her own feelings. But contrary to popular belief, this didn't make her as heartless as she appeared. In fact, she cared quite a bit for certain people. And there were only six people, at the most, that Santana cared for. Brittany. Puck. Sam. Quinn. Mike. And - Santana would never admit this out loud - Rachel Berry. When Santana was 5 years old, someone had kicked sand in Brittany's face. But before she could get up and defend her best friend since birth, a tiny blur of a figure had launched itself at the bully and tackled him to the ground. Both Santana and Brittany - along with the rest of the witnesses - had been in awe when Rachel Berry, in all her 38 pounds of glory, had beaten up a 98 pound third grader. From then on, Santana had had a soft spot for the girl. Even when they got older and were categorized into different social rankings, which kept Santana from acknowledging Rachel as an equal in public.
And so it was with a heavy heart that Santana watched her old ex-friend slowly crumble to pieces right in front of her eyes. Each day Rachel smiled a little less, stopped singing, and the light in her eyes dimmed a little more. It was killing Santana to see the strongest girl she know breaking. She didn't even know what was wrong, or how she could help.
Brittany had commented on the fact that Rachel no longer wore skirts or "cute animal sweaters”. Santana's best friend had declared the normal sweatshirt and jeans that Rachel now wore to be disastrous. “Something is super wrong,” Brittany had insisted.
Watching Rachel like a hawk had now become Santana's purpose in life. She died a little inside when Rachel turned down a solo. She wanted to cry when Rachel couldn't perform the dance number she had devised with Mike a few weeks ago. And she wanted to scream when no one else seemed to notice that something was wrong with Rachel.
Santana didn't know who she could trust with her concerns. Mr. Schue was a jerk who obviously couldn't be bothered with anything besides reliving his glory days and doting on Miss Pillsbury. She refused to go to Coach Sylvester because the mad woman would probably try and use Rachel to bring down glee club once and for all. There were simply no other adults Santana could turn to.
~*~
Despair. She felt like she was drowning. Did no one love her? Her emotions were out of control. She felt everything, yet at the same time she felt nothing. It was maddening. There was nothing she could do. She couldn't take a razor to herself because Sue had demanded full body, locker, and backpack searches every morning. It was like going through airport security.
She drew in ragged breaths and tried to get up off the shower floor. Gym had ended 25 minutes ago and she should be in glee now. But she didn't have the strength to move.
Perhaps... perhaps the blade of the shaving razor would work? It was a tiny blade, but perhaps it would be enough to regain some of the control...
~*~
"Has anyone seen Rachel?" Mr. Schue asked in a distracted tone. "Was she even here this morning?"
Santana scoffed. "Seriously? I don't even like you guys, and I am more aware of what goes on in this club than you are. Get a clue, would ya? She is probably still in the shower."
"How do you know what class she has?" Quinn asked curiously. "I thought you hated anything to do with her?"
"I'm the TA for Coach in 4th period!" Santana snapped, insulted that Quinn assumed she hated Rachel. Even though... that's what she wanted people to think. It still stung when people couldn't see through her act. She swallowed her worry and glared at Quinn. "It’s not like I make an effort to pay attention to the hobbit. She’s just kind of hard to ignore.”
"Alright, no need to get all defensive," Quinn said with a slightly wide eyed look before she schooled her features into a mask of indifference.
"Well let's get started-" Mr. Schuester began.
"Will!" Miss Pillsbury came rushing into the room, her red hair not perfectly in place and her large brown eyes made bigger with fear. "There is blood coming from the girls locker room. Sue left for the day, and I didn't know who else to go to."
Both teachers made for the door, but a flash of red and white out ran them and was gone before they could even register who it was.
"SANTANA!" Brittany yelled, shoving past the two teachers to catch up with her best friend. "SAN, WAIT FOR ME!"
The rest of the glee club decided they should follow as well. When they arrived at the girls locker room, they were astonished to see the door wide open, kicked off its weak hinges. They followed the trail of blood infused water, and were stunned at the sight of Santana sitting on the ground, water pouring over her head and pooling around her shaking form. Cradled in her arms was a pale and still Rachel. This was the first time any of them had seen Santana cry.
"I'm sorry!" Santana cried, her arms rocking the lifeless form of her old friend. "Rachel, no, I’m so sorry!"
Brittany got down on her knees next to her best friend, tears silently dripping down her cheeks. "San, San you need to let go."
"I can't!" Santana looked desperately around, seeking forgiveness from the people who didn't understand enough to give it. "She- I- no!"
Later when the glee kids and the two adults tried to talk about the experience to a grief counselor, they couldn't do anything but recall the grief stricken expression of Santana and the heartbreakingly peaceful expression on Rachel's otherwise lifeless face.
Santana kept blaming herself, saying she should have told someone her suspicions.
Mr. Schuester cried in the privacy of his office when he realized that not only had he not noticed Rachel's behavior, but that Santana had not felt she could come to him. But most of all he cried for Rachel. She must have felt so alone. What else would force her to go so far?
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