A/N: Before we start the story I would just like to point out that most of this text is drawn from purely personal experience. And before you ask, yes, it was me on that end of the spectrum. Replace gun with booze and pills and you've got me, every night for two weeks, sitting at the kitchen table and praying to God something gives me the courage to go on. Luckily enough, I never did. A huge turn of events happened after two weeks, in which I met my current boyfriend, I got over the one person who was breaking my heart, and I actually confronted my problems head on. Life has been good since then. I've relapsed quite a bit in the past year and 9 months (my body is actually covered in scars nowadays) but I've survived.
So to the people reading this story, if any of you ever feel the need to end it, please don't. You are so worth the effort to just stop and think about every good thing in your life. And if you can't find it, just wait. It'll come to you, I promise.
Tic, tock, tic, tock. Time's gaining on you, my dear. It's coming closer, closer. Every breath you take brings you one heart beat closer to death, every step you take brings you one meter closer to the edge. And, honey, you're already very very close to the edge…
It was almost like the gun was mocking her, sitting in its wooden box and mocking her. How dare it think it had any control over her life? The only person who could really control her life was God…
But He wasn't much of a help lately, now, was he?
Santana had spent every night for the past month performing this bizarre ritual, staring at the gun she had taken from her father's cabinet and just looking at it. Once or twice she'd picked it up, weighed it. She'd opened it once and found six ripe, fat bullets just waiting to be fired. Every night she thought to herself 'This might be the last…'
And yet every night she never found the courage to call Brittany and tell her goodbye.
You're too scared, but don't worry. One day the time will come. It'll sneak up on you. You won't see it coming. And I'll be here, waiting. I'll always wait. Anything for you…
She slammed the box shut and took two deep breaths before collapsing face first into the mattress, silently sobbing into the white sheets her mother had just spread out for her.
"Someone, please," she whispered into the mattress, feeling her voice grow thick with emotion, "please make this torture end…"
Kurt Hummel knocked once, twice, thrice on the Lopez family door before he put his hands down near his hip and waited. A flustered Mrs Lopez appeared and let him in, calling to Santana that her 'very pale boy friend' was here. He smiled a thank you at her and waited in the foyer for the Latina to make an appearance. They were meant to be studying together today. She had actually started to talk to him lately, even though half the time she had this weird look in her eyes. And yesterday after Glee she had asked him for help with Chemistry. He had gladly obliged, telling her that if he helped her, she had to help him with some of the clothing designs he was so meticulously working on. She had nodded her agreement, given him her address, and stalked off alone to her car in the parking lot.
He waited in the foyer for a good five minutes before Mrs Lopez suddenly appeared again. She stopped upon seeing him, sighed and motioned to him. "Come with me. I'll take you to her room. She probably didn't hear me."
Kurt followed the woman up the stairs and to a half in front of a large blue door at the beginning of the corridor. "She's in here." Kurt thanked her again and knocked on the door.
"Santana? It's me, Kurt."
"Come on in!" she called from behind the door. He twisted the knob and entered the room, a heavy mess of black and red.
"Wow, honey…"
"Do not say a word. I know it's messy. Sorry. Just…slouch on the bed or something. We can work there. I do it all the time."
Kurt shrugged and set his bag down on the bed, plopping onto the mattress and watching her move across the room, grabbing books and papers and pencils. "Did you, like, get any of that stuff about alkenes? 'Coz I'm seriously stumped!"
"It's easy, Santana. Can you stop moving, please? You're making me dizzy…"
"Well then don't look at me while I walk!" she growled playfully, dropping half the papers onto the floor. She groaned and bent over to pick them up, and Kurt let his eyes wander around the rest of the room. As they came to rest on the floor near his feet, he saw a small wooden corner poke itself from underneath the bed. He bent over to pick it up, intrigued by the intricate designs and nicely carved Latin words. He held it in his hand, feeling the heaviness it contained.
"My mother had a box just like this," he spoke out loud, running his finger over the rim. "She kept her jewelry inside. It had old English on it though. My mum was a huge Shakespeare fangirl."
Suddenly a hand shot out, grabbing the box and jerking it away. "That's mine."
"Relax, Santana, I wasn't going to steal it."
He looked at her face, studying it and how it had suddenly turned hostile, like she wouldn't hesitate to kick his ass at any moment. He got up off the mattress and stood beside her, towering slightly over her. He was just a few inches taller, but it was apparently enough to throw her off for a bit.
"What's in the box, Lopez?"
"Can it, Kurt."
"Come on, show us your dirty little secret!" he joked, reaching out for it, but she put it behind her back, staggering backwards. "I bet it's a vibrator, isn't it? Or a dildo!"
She shook her head, and he suddenly saw anger, pure unadulterated anger, pulse through her blood. He could visibly see the blood coursing through her veins as she protected the box. He felt his confidence grow. It wasn't every day that he got to pick on the school's HBIC, and he wasn't going to go down with a proper fight.
He lunged at her, for once not caring about messing up his clothes, and knocked her over. She slammed down onto her carpet, and the box flew out of her hands. He grabbed it, feeling like a five year old who had just done something he wasn't supposed to do and opened it.
The next sixty seconds of his life where the longest ever.
Santana lay sprawled on the floor, staring up at him with the hurt that had replaced the anger. He couldn't breathe, his chest felt like it was being filled with lead. He held the box out to her, almost afraid to hold it, and she took it from his hands and slid it back under the bed. He noticed how her face was scrunched up in an effort not to cry, and he felt his own eyes start to water.
"What the fuck, Santana?"
"I…"
"Explain!" he screamed at her, hoping that her walls were soundproof. "Explain to me why you have a gun under your bed! Explain to me why there are papers underneath it all with something in your handwriting, obviously suicide notes! Explain why you couldn't come to any of us in Glee Club!"
"Because you can't help me!" she screamed back, getting up and slamming her fist into the wall. He watched as some plaster fell off into a dusty heap at her feet and she glared at him, continuing her rant. "Do you think that I could confide this in any of you? You'd never leave me alone, you'd treat me like glass and be all caring and loving and I can't stand that! I am my own woman, I am independent. I. Don't. Need. Anyone!"
She started to pant, crossing her arms over her chest and lowering her head. Her hair fell in black curtains over her face, covering any emotion from Kurt. He stared on, surprised. Who was this girl?
"Santana, I…"
"Forget it, Kurt. Please. Can we just start that Chemistry work, please?"
"Sure…" he mumbled, reaching out to grab her arm. She jerked away, her face still covered, her voice cracked.
"I'm gonna go to the bathroom first…" She exited the room and he heard her walk into the next, and heard what was unmistakably a broken sob. He quickly crawled onto his knees and grabbed the box from underneath the bed, and put it into his bag, thanking Whoever that he had brought his book bag with him.
I can't believe Kurt took my gun. I can't believe Kurt took my gun!
She was mentally screaming, cursing herself for everything that had gone wrong. Why did she have to be so damn untidy when it came to her room? Why did she have to leave the box out? Why did she have to be so damn stupid?
She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, the only part of the room her mother hadn't let her paint. It was white. And it was mocking her. She knew it. Across the white she saw words scrawled, bright and teasing.
You're a failure. You're such an idiot. Look what you've done!
"Stop it…" she pleaded with her mind, feeling tears return to her eyes. "Please just stop. This can't be happening…please…"
Time you found another way to get it done, huh, Santana?
That voice. That. Fucking. Voice. It was always in her head, the part of her that was so cruel, so consistent, so…
So powerful.
She had been listening to that voice a lot lately. Why not some more?
"What do you mean?" she spoke out loud. The voice would hear. It always did.
Your brother Cristof.
"What about him?"
Hasn't he got a pen knife? And he forgot to take it with him to college, we both know that because we found it in his room when we were looking for cigars. Go look for it. Get it in here. You know what to do with it.
Thirty minutes later she was sitting on the edge of the bed, running the blade up and down her thumb. She couldn't go through with it, not tonight. But the feel of the metal against her skin felt strangely…alluring…
It wasn't what she was expecting. Blacking out for five seconds, and next she found herself nursing a cut in her palm, watching the blood trickle down to her wrist and start to harden. She stared at it, unaware of the pain starting to sizzle through her skin.
It felt good.
When she finally crawled herself into bed, she found herself thinking that she was glad it was winter and that she could wear long sleeves, so that she could hide the marks on her arms. And even if she didn't hide them, she could come up with a story. She was good at lying that way. She could easily say she got into a fight. They'd believe her.
But the real reason would always be known to her.
She had to punish herself for everything she was that she didn't want to be.
And this. This was a start.
When Quinn heard Kurt tell them that Santana had a gun, she was strangely not surprised.
When he proceeded to say what she wanted to do with that gun, she felt her heart shatter.
Everyone in the choir room at that time (which was practically the whole club except for the Latina and her blonde best friend) erupted into an uproar, shouting out things like 'What the fuck?' or 'You're kidding right?'. Everyone seemed just as shocked as Quinn was. But nobody did what she got up to do.
She ran out of the choir room, dodging them all and ignoring their questions. She started to walk through the corridor, and immediately picked up the pace when she saw Brittany walking alone towards the choir room. She ran up the stairs, glanced into the second floor, and found her sitting alone by the lockers, hugging her knees and rocking slightly.
"Santana?"
"Go away, Q."
"Hear me out."
"I know what you want to say, OK? Just, leave me alone. I can handle this on my own. I know I can. I just need…to be…alone…"
"Do you think I'm gonna trust you alone anymore?" Quinn burst, storming forward and falling to her knees before the other girl. "What's gotten into you lately?"
"Quinn, I don't want to tell you. You're the last person I would talk to about something like this, alright? So just leave it alone, please!"
Quinn fell silent, and decided that she wasn't going to convince Santana any time soon. So she sidled in next to her instead, her back to the lockers too, and rested her head on Santana's shoulder. "Whatever's going on, it's going to be fine, I promise, San."
"How do you know that, Quinn?"
Quinn sighed and fished her phone out of her pocket, flipping through the contacts and pointing at a specific name. "See this? When I was pregnant, I would call them and talk to them, try and get rid of some of the depression. I would talk to them and they'd help me get over it, whatever it was that was bugging me that day."
"Guess what, I'm not exactly pregnant."
"No, but you do need someone to talk to. And usually when it's somebody that you don't know, it's even better. So please Santana, for your own good, find a help line. Ever heard of the Trevor Project?" From the look on the darker girl's face, she probably had. "Find their number. Call them. Talk to them. Please. Don't do this for us…" Quinn levered herself off the floor with her arms and patted Santana once on the head affectionately before making to walk away. "Do this for yourself."
They all know. They know. You're an idiot, Santana. They know about the gun. They won't leave you alone again.
She sat in the cubicle, running the blade up and down her arm again and again and again…not enough to draw blood, just enough to leave angry red marks all over.
You might as well end it soon. End it now.
No.
She stopped and stared at the white tiled floor, surprised at the new voice in her head.
Santana you can't do this to yourself. Please, you're worth it. You're so worth it…listen to Quinn, OK? Please…for yourself. For your own sake.
She got up and left the cubicle, wiping at her eyes.
That voice was small…but maybe it had a point…
"Santana, do you know why you're in here?"
She sighed and crossed her arms. Up goes the armour that she'd spent years building to be perfect for situations like this.
"It's because of what Kurt told me yesterday."
OK, fine, she knew this was coming, but it was still a shock that he had gone to Schuester about it! And that ginger counselor. Seriously, what was with this couple!
"Have you talked to anyone about this?" Emma asked, leaning over her desk to look at the girl closely. Santana flicked her hair over her shoulder and looked away, at the potted plants on the floor. "Why should I?"
"I don't know if you realize this, but you're being a danger not only to yourself, but to others around you too, Santana!" Will looked like he was trying to keep himself in check. He was obviously failing though and any minute now…
"Will, can you leave Santana and I alone please?" Will looked at Emma, then at the Latina he had unceremoniously kicked off of Glee, and walked to the door. As he passed Santana, he stopped by her chair and almost – but not quite – put a hand on her shoulder, then thought better of himself and continued on his way out.
"So, will you talk to me?"
Santana continued to look at the potted plants, her armour still pretty much intact. For now.
"Do I have to?"
"Well, it'll definitely make you feel better. But you don't have to talk if you don't want to. Only when you're ready. But at least, will you hear me out?"
She shrugged. Nothing left to lose.
"I may not have had any contact with you for the past four years that you've been in this school, but I have noticed things about you. And what I've noticed is you and Brittany." Santana's head perked up, her eyes narrowing slightly. Now she was interested…
"What do you know about Brittany and me?"
"Not much. But I have deduced something…" Emma leaned back in her chair, observing Santana very very closely. "You love her, don't you?"
It was more of a statement than a question, and Santana found herself blushing profusely as she nodded the affirmative. "Is this what this is about?"
She didn't answer in any way.
Emma didn't make a sound, merely waited for any type of reaction. But the Latina's face was stoic, hard, and she didn't seem to be giving in any time soon.
"So, Santana, do you really think that ending your life is going to solve all your problems?"
"It'll definitely stop them."
"What about the people around you?"
"They don't care."
Santana looked at Emma's face when she snapped out her last retort, and saw how surprised she was. "They don't give a damn. My oldest brother left for the army, he was the only one I trusted. The brother and sister after him are in college, they were close second. My younger siblings don't talk to me that much because mum doesn't trust me to look after them 'coz I'm a skank to her. My dad doesn't have a picture of me on his desk at work, but space for every other family member. Schuester kicked me out of the Glee club, I lost the only family I ever had because of that. Sue Sylvester just cares about winning, not about me! And the Glee Losers, they'd be happy if I was gone. I made their life a living hell, they'd finally be free of me."
Emma stared on, actually astounded at the burst of emotion that had come out of the girl. Speechless, she just reached out a hand, and hoped Santana would take it. However, she just stared at it, then looked up and said, "I don't need your sympathy." She got up and grabbed her bag, making her way to the door.
But then she turned, looked at Emma through sad brown eyes, and gave her a watery smile, before exiting the office.
Burn them.
"I can't do this…" she spoke softly into the flames burning in the fire place. She was alone at home, again, and the little voice had become just a little bit stronger. But not strong enough.
What if you do go through with it? You're gonna need the notes.
She hadn't left the real suicide notes in the box. Those had been rough drafts. These in her hands right now, they were the real thing. And the little voice had told her that if she intended to live than they were of no use to her anymore.
It's not that hard. OK fine…it is at first. But then it gets easy. I swear, Santana. Just poke the first one into the fire and you'll be good.
She looked at the one on the top. 'Mami and Papi' it read. This was the one where she ranted at them, told them that she was gay, and told them that she hoped they were happy that they lost her.
It burst into flames very quickly.
'Rachel, Mercedes, Tina, Quinn' said the next. It caught fire twice as quickly.
'Kurt, Blaine, Finn, Mike, Artie' took a while to get started.
'Puck' was persistent and wouldn't catch fire immediately.
She rocked backwards on her ankles and grabbed the last letter. She knew that by elimination, this was the one titled 'Brittany'.
It took five full minutes for this one to burn.
It was a week since the Glee club found out about the danger Santana was putting herself in. A week of everybody stepping delicately around her. It was exactly what she had been aiming to avoid.
"Santana?" She mentally cursed Rachel and turned to meet the tiny diva's eyes. She wasn't alone. Tina and Mike stood with her, both of them holding hands.
"Yes?"
"We just…" Tina started to say, but broke off. She looked down at Santana's arms, almost as if she suspected something. The taller girl covered her exposed left wrist and frowned.
"What?"
Mike stepped forward and engulfed her in a hug. She stood rock solid, completely caught off guard. Sure, she and Mike had dated for a while back in freshman year, but it had never gone anywhere. He was a nice enough guy, though…
And his hugs were actually really nice and warm.
"I know we don't really talk," he whispered into her ear, still holding her to his chest, "but you don't have to do this. I'd miss you if you did this."
She found herself hugging back in the next millisecond.
Tina stepped forward and hugged her next, and Santana welcomed the Asian girl's embrace. Tina was a good friend. She had helped her write Trouty Mouth after all, and even went with her on a few shopping expeditions that summer.
"We need you, Santana," Rachel said before putting a hand on the Latina's shoulder, almost afraid to hug her. "Glee's family. We won't be the same without you."
Santana looked at the floor and at Rachel's horribly clankly-looking shoes. "Glee is a club, Rachel, not family."
"If we lose you," Tina spoke up, her voice soft, yet carrying in the busy hallway, "we lose somebody important. We'll hurt and we'll miss you. You don't have to tell us what this is all about, but if you do we won't judge you, we won't hold it against you. And if you do go through with it, Santana, we'll miss you…so much…"
"I don't wanna be singing 'Helena' at your funeral…" Mike mumbled, grinning at the My Chemical Romance reference. He knew how much Santana loved the band.
"Thanks guys," she pushed out of her throat, grabbing her English book and turning around. "I'll…see you around."
"Mija, you've barely touched your food-"
"I'm fine, Papi."
"Santana, don't snap at your father like that."
Oh, you'll miss me when I'm gone. Then you'll see how you should have been nice to me, you selfish bitch.
Calm down, darling.
Lately that small voice was becoming…not so small. It had grown in her head, taking on its own encouraging tone (she thought it actually sounded a lot like Cristof), burning a hole in her mind whenever the other voice spoke up. But the other voice rarely did…not since the Asians and Hobbit had hugged her…
That's not very nice of you, Santana.
And I'm still here.
You should try calling them by their real names. It would be quite nice of you, I think.
Fine then. Tina, Mike and Rachel…
That's better. Now, apologize to your mother, eat your food, go upstairs take a nap. You need it.
"Sorry, mami. I'm just not feeling too well…"
"Are you sick?" her father asked, spearing a piece of carrot with unexpected strength.
"Something like that…"
It was with new found enthusiasm that Puck and Santana made their way through town in her red convertible that weekend, driving around aimlessly and just screaming out lyrics to songs on the radio. He had dragged her out of the house, saying that he wanted to spend some time with her, bro to bro.
It was nice to finally see Puck giving her attention as not just another hook up.
"So, Lopez, how are things?" he asked.
She gripped the steering wheel a little harder than was necessary and felt her fingers start to go numb. "None of your business, Puck."
"Hey, stop the car."
"What?"
"Just do it."
She parked in the nearest parking lot, which so happened to be the one to the park. She vaulted over the door and onto the street, and he followed, and the two of them walked side by side into the park. Upon finding a bench, he sat her down and looked her dead in the eyes.
"Santana, listen to me. I may not know what's going on, what made you want to commit suicide. But you have to tell someone. Anyone."
She flinched when he used the word, that one word that meant that what she was doing to herself had a name, a purpose.
"Puck, I…"
"No, please. Tell me what's wrong. Tell me why you want to end your life when you have so much left to live for!"
She moved her eyes from his piercing gaze and stared at the tree opposite them, at the little leaves left rustling in the breeze and the leaves at the bottom crackling as they moved across the grass.
"I'm not happy, Puck. I'm really not. When Schuester kicked me off the club, he took away one part of my day that was just perfect. Then, when he Brittany wouldn't even so much as look at me because she heard those stupid rumours about me hooking up with some girl at the Homecoming dance, and then when I saw this guy being beat up because he was wearing a hat down at Adjacent and they all called him a fag and almost killed him Puck they almost killed him! And then I realized that I was wrong, I was stupid and I was wrong. I couldn't be gay, I can't be gay Puck!" She ignored his stares at her and she suddenly remembered that she hadn't come out, not yet, and that Puck was the first person she had come out to. "I don't want to be gay, Puck. I can't be gay. I can't like girls. I will be forever in the dark, always in the wrong. I don't want that! And I tried to change, really I did. But I just couldn't. Every time I tried to change I just got worse and worse! And then people started ignoring me, the rest of the Glee Club never appreciated me, the school sensed something was up and everyone turned against me! And then I decided…there's only one way to make this all end. And I went looking for my dad's gun and…"
"Santana, stop."
"This isn't how I planned for things to happen! I can't be in love with girls, OK? I can't be in love with someone who doesn't love me back!"
"Santana!" he yelled, stilling even the wind. She stopped talking and spun her head to look at him, and he reached a hand out to her and pulled her roughly to him, bringing their faces dangerously close.
"You are not wrong, you are completely natural, and this is not something you want to end your life over! You haven't even come out yet!"
"And when I do, my parents are going to kick me out, the 'friends' I have at school will abandon me and I'll have no one! I'm going to fall off the edge sooner or later, Noah, why not sooner?"
"You don't have to do this to yourself!" He grabbed a sleeve on her arm and yanked it up, revealing the scars to himself and to her. "I knew you were doing something stupid like this! Santana, look at this. Just look! This is what you're doing to yourself!"
"It's punishment, Puckerman! For what I am and for what I always will be!"
"And you think that doing this to yourself will change you? As if!"
He rose off the bench and pulled her off with him, dragging her back to the car. He hoped into the driver's seat and drove, drove her to the highest point in Lima, dragged her back out and made her stand at the railing. In five minutes they had gone from being at the park to being here. Santana had never felt so out of it…
"Look out at the city, San. Just look. Do you know what this place is going to be in twenty years time? It's going to be the birth place of one of Hollywood's biggest stars, Santana Lopez. In twenty years time it's going to be the place you left and never came back to. In twenty years time you're going to be able to replace this skyline with a New York skyline, San Francisco, Hollywood. Anything you want, Santana. Anything at all! You can do this. But to do it, you have to stay alive."
He spun her around to look at him and he grinned sheepishly. "I love you, San. You're like the hot lesbian sister I always wanted. Please don't do this. For me…for Glee…for Brittany…"
She nodded and hugged him to her, wetting his shirt with every unshed tear she had held in for the past week and a half.
"Santana?"
"Yeah, Mum?"
"Brittany's here."
She shot up in her bed, letting papers and crumbs of food fly everywhere. She had been just lying on her back, counting the seconds until a short nap would take over her senses, and hoping it would be soon. She didn't know Brittany was coming over.
"Hey, San."
Santana stared at her, seething in silence.
"I know we haven't talked in a while…"
"Damn right…"
"I just miss you. And Kurt and the others told me about what's been going on."
"Leave it up to them to ruin a perfectly good secret, huh?"
Brittany gave a small shaky laugh before pulling the covers up a little and crawling into bed next to Santana.
"San, what's wrong?"
"Didn't you talk to Puck?"
"He told me it was about you being lesbian and all that. But he didn't say anything else. He said there was one more thing…but that he couldn't say it to me because it wouldn't be fair on you. So I got him to give me a ride here."
"Britt, you didn't have to."
"I wanted to. You're my best friend and I miss you. I know that last year was trouble because of the whole Lebanese t-shirt and then when I wouldn't date you because of Artie, and I know that you got really hurt. But…I still don't understand why you would want to change who you are, San."
"I don't like myself very much…"
"But I like you just the way you are. And so do the rest of our friends. And besides, if you like yourself you get confidence, and confidence is sexy, San."
"Britt…it's not that easy."
"No, it really isn't. Not at first. But then…then it's easy."
Santana rolled over onto her side and grasped Brittany's hands, holding them between the two of them. "Britt, I love you. I mean it. I've loved you forever, Britt. I've never wanted anyone more than I've wanted you. Please, Britt…"
"Will having me keep you alive?" the blonde asked, looking seriously into Santana's eyes. Blue met brown, and the whole world melted away. Santana nodded once, and Brittany smiled.
"I love you, Santana. I do. And if me being yours is all you need then I am yours. Proudly so. I promise."
She leaned forward and paused a hair's breadth away from Santana's lips, and Santana could feel the tension start to build all over her body, burying itself into her muscles and running through her blood.
It felt like her first kiss all over again.
"Britt…" her breath tickled the blonde's and Brittany couldn't take it anymore.
"Just kiss me."
That night, as she lay in bed alone, she realized that the only voice in her head was her own.
(If you liked this story and have Tumblr, then ask me for my Tumblr blog link. I will gladly give it to you.)