(A/N): Yo, if I know you in person, this is me telling you, don't read on. You may not like what I have to say. Nothing mean, this just wasn't written directed at you; posting it here just happens to let you know. Not mentioning names. ANYWAY, rated for mature themes. Back to these depressing oneshots, y'all!
Backstory: AU in which Mercedes started dating her boyfriend in the first season. Kurt came out to Burt and his friends, and he was shunned. He helped Mercedes through some hard times, and expected her to be there for him. But the boyfriend got in the way a little.
"Don't think about it," they tell me.
"Don't worry," you say.
Well, you know what? I will think about it, and I have to worry. I'm only a human being. I have to think about it. Maybe thinking about it will make me a stronger person... Or, at least strong enough to conquer them. And I will worry. They're all I have.
"You'll be fine," they insist.
"Laugh, don't cry," you encourage.
I hope I'll be fine, and I hope I'll be able to laugh again one day. But the matter of fact is, they are -were - the closest people to me. And now they're gone. I might not be fine. And you tell me not to cry? How do you expect me to ever feel better if I'm constantly covering my true feelings? And only so you won't have to deal with my tears.
"Talk to someone you trust," they advise me.
"Trust me," you plead.
And I talk to you, trying to trust you. But I can only talk to someone I trust. And I don't trust you. You want to help... Until it gets hard. You want to care... Until you've repaid your debt to me. You want to me to trust you... Until I'm dependent enough on you to be crushed when you leave.
"Your true friends will understand," they assure me.
"Let me understand," you plead.
So I talk, and I talk, until you stop answering. Your eyes are glazed and I can tell that your mind is far away. You're not listening. And you're definitely not understanding. Does that mean you're not a true friend?
"Let yourself be caught," they persuade me.
"I will catch you," you promise.
So I fall. And you lift your arms slightly, feeling the wind of my falling life whistle through your fingertips. Your half-hearted attempts at catching are what caused me to fall.
"I survived," I announce proudly.
You don't respond.
So I stop surviving. If there's no one to be proud of my accomplishments, why accomplish? It does nothing for me.
"Resist," they whisper.
And you're gone.
You're all gone.
So I stop resisting. My quaking fingers grip the blade, and a familiar rhythm resumes against my wrist. The blood doesn't spring up. This angers me.
"Don't give up," they murmur.
"Never," I swear.
I push harder. I let all of my anger at those I love (who no longer love me back), and I find their love for me. It's all seeping from my wrists, red as the depths of Satan's soul.
"Crimson paints my world," I manage dreamily.
"Finally," the world groans, everything returning to normal.
(A/N): So... yeah! That was that! Chuck some reviews in my general direction, and perhaps I'll actually write the backstory out!