Chapter 1

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me."

She had come to hate the color white. She used to love the cheery, innocent aura it gave off, but now it only reminded her of the room she was confined to. Everything was white here. The peeling walls, the tile floors, the uncomfortable bedspread- all a sickening white. Yet nothing in the room was cheery or innocent. Including her.

She was tainted. She was broken. And she was alone. The scars that ran down her arm reminded her constantly of it. Nobody needed her, and nobody wanted her. Even her own parents- the only two people in the world who she thought loved her- exiled her here to her own hell. And did they visit? No. Did they call? Rarely. She was a prisoner here.

Exactly forty-one days ago, they sent her here. Rehab- or treatment center- as they called it to make it sound nicer, and make her feel like less of a freak. They claimed that she desperately needed help, and she agreed with them. But instead of talking it through with her, they shipped her off to this horrid place. It was the easy way out for them. They could tell people that she was visiting relatives in a different state, because they surely could not tarnish their perfect reputation in the small town. She scoffed. It was like she was dead to them… apparently her attempt at it did not do the trick.

A knock on her door alerted her that she was not alone. Though it did not feel like it, she was surrounded by people like her. Some of them even more messed up then her. She just chose not to let anyone in. The world was such a cruel place, and she did not want to risk more pain from ignorant people. After all, her first scars hadn't even healed yet.

"I am sure you will like it here at McKinley High School," the secretary told her with a smile. "Not only are our academic achievements astounding, but the students are wonderful too."

"I know I will love it here," she smiled back, blissfully unaware of how false that statement would be.

"Are you interested in anything particular? Perhaps I can help you join a club so you can find a group of people with similar interests."

"Well, I do love to sing. Are there any musical auditions anytime soon? I would love to join Drama Club."

"I'm afraid that our musical is already in progress," the secretary loosed pensive, "however, a new club has just gotten started. Glee club. In fact, the sign up sheet is right on that bulletin board."

She beamed. "Thank you so much! I will definitely enjoy it here."

It all started because of that damn secretary. If she hadn't told her about glee club, then the pain that came with the club would have never happened. It was all that damn secretary's fault.

Red slushie dripped down her white shirt. It was not the first time that had happened, and it certainly would not be the last. It seemed like everyone hated her at the school. They mocked her for singing in glee club, criticized her unique fashion sense, and made fun of her gay dads.

She did not let it get to her though. She knew that they were all just bullies and jealous of her talent. One day, they would buy magazines with her on the cover. She just had to get through high school, and then it would all be over.

She walked down the halls with her head held high. Though tears were craving to spill from her eyes, she refused to give her peers the satisfaction of seeing her cry. That would only had fuel to the fire. She knew she could get through it. At least, she sure hoped so.

She was so naïve back them. She thought that their words would never get to her. She thought that she could be strong and overcome any obstacle that life threw at her. She wished she could go back to those days when she believed in her herself, because they sure were a lot better than the days now.

Red was her new favorite color. She liked the way it represented bravery, courage, and blood. The first time she saw this color seep down her wrist was exactly five months ago. Her first boyfriend, who she thought she was madly in love with, broke up with her. He wanted to have sex; she did not. He pushed her to do it for him, but she couldn't get herself to go through with it. It ended right then and there. Between her bitter break-up and the harsh words she heard from her peers every day, she wanted to feel pain. She wanted to remind herself that she could feel pain instead of the numbness and hollowness she felt in her heart. Call her masochistic, but she enjoyed the first time the razor sliced through her skin. It left her scared and worried, but it got her mind of everything.

It was just the distraction she needed.

It continued for three months. When she was feeling lonely and angry, she did it. When she saw pornographic drawing of herself in the bathroom, she did it. She wasn't stupid, though; she wore long shirts to cover her inflictions, and nobody said a thing. Whether they chose to ignore her or simply didn't notice, she didn't know. But she knew that she needed to feel some sort of pain. It was turning into her lifeline.

"Rachel!" the person at her door called. "May I come in?"

"Does it even matter? It's not like this door has a lock," she scoffed.

Her psychologist, Maria, entered with a small smile. "I know, but we want you to feel as at home as you can here."

Rachel stared blankly at her. This place would never resemble any part of the home she was longing for. Though she did not know what she even considered home, she knew it wasn't here. It occurred to her that she didn't truly have a home. Her parents abandoned her, and she had no friends. Was this really what she had to call home?

"How are you doing?" Maria asked gently, sensing her bitterness.

"Same as ever," she responded cynically. Rachel tried to remember the time when she used to have manners, but it felt so long ago, she could barely recall it.

"Have you made any friends?" Maria asked her, and Rachel couldn't help but feel like she was being psychoanalyzed. She felt like whenever she said something, it was going to be used against her. Three years in high school did that to her. Those kids turned everything she said into something else, and she hated it. She hated them. They scarred her; she just did the act of it with a razor.

"Nope," Rachel said. She knew she was being a pain in the ass. She was the perfect epitome of an angsty teen, but she didn't care. Life had been so cruel to her that she didn't care what people thought of her anymore. What was the point in caring when nobody cared back?

Her psychologist sighed. Forty-one days and counting, and she had made no progress with the girl. She knew that most teenagers- seventeen year olds, especially- did not give their trust to just anyone. But this girl put on an insurmountable barrier that could not be broken through. She wondered if Rachel would ever come around.

"Well, I have something I need you to do," Maria said soothingly.

"What?" Rachel asked, narrowing her eyes. She didn't owe these people anything.

"We have a new teen coming in today, and we need you to show him around. Would you like that?"

"No," Rachel said bluntly. "In fact, I would hate it. I won't do it."

"It's not a request," Maria said kindly but with conviction. "We are doing everything we can to help you, Rachel-"

"Maybe I don't need help!" Rachel blew up. "It's not my fault I resorted to cutting myself! It's not my fault I almost killed myself! It's all those damn kids' fault!"

Maria was silent. Never before had Rachel acknowledged what she had done to herself, as she always ignored Maria when it was mentioned. Was this progress? Was she finally coming to terms with what she did, and why it needed to stop?

"This will be good for you," Maria chose her words carefully. "This boy could teach you a lot, and I am sure you could teach him a lot."

"But I don't want to," Rachel snapped. "I just want to leave this place."

"He will be here in twenty minutes," was all Maria said as she left Rachel's room.

Rachel just screamed into her pillow. Nobody ever listened to her. It was just her against the world.

… … …

When Rachel first saw the boy, she didn't know what to think. He screamed danger! He had a ridiculous mohawk, hazel eyes that might be green if she looked closely, and muscles that looked like they could crush any innocent bystander. When she looked again, she noticed things that she didn't initially see. Like, his pupils had a faraway look in them, he had bags under his eyes, and his face was a bit paler than the rest of his tan skin. One thing she immediately noticed, however, was how unscathed his skin was. If he wasn't like her, then what was he like? There were few other teenagers in the treatment center, so Rachel didn't know what to think of the other misfits like her who also needed help.

"Noah Puckerman, but call me Puck," his gruff voice broke her out of her staring. Though she noticed that he was staring blatantly at her to. They were both trying to figure out what the other one's problem was.

"Rachel Berry," she mirrored his tone.

After their informal greeting, she didn't know what to say. Why are you here? What do you think of rehab? Pretty great, huh? She knew that if he asked her any of those questions, she would sock him in the eye.

"So why are you here?" he asked, with a hint of an attitude.

"Are you really asking me that?" she growled, clenching her fists.

"Well, we are in rehab. Isn't that all you guys talk about here? Aren't I just supposed to talk about how miserable my life is? It's just going to be one big pity party." He clapped his hands together in mock enthusiasm.

Rachel instantly hated him.

She glared at him. "Why are you here?"

"I asked you first."

"It's none of your business."

"Then neither is you knowing why I'm here."

After a good ten seconds of glaring, Rachel stomped away. Screw that psychologist! She refused to talk to Noah Puckerman. It was people like him who made her spiral into depression. He was just like those guys at her school. He had a self-esteem that was way too high and she knew- she just knew- that he was a bully.

"Wait!" she heard him say.

Despite her anger, she turned around. Curiosity always killed the cat. "What?"

"I really don't want to be here, but I have to know something. Are there any hot girls around here? I haven't had sex in-"

Rachel didn't really remember what happened next, but the sound of her fist colliding with Puck's eye did register in her ears. And damn, did it feel good.

At least she taught him a lesson, right? She was already following her psychologist's orders. Who says that's not progress?

A/N: I am back! I have taken a much needed break from FanFiction, but I am definitely ready to get my stories back on track. School has kept me busy, but summer just started, so I have a few months of freedom! I am going to cut down on A/N's, so I just want to say hello to anyone who hasn't read my stories, and thanks for staying with me to any of my faithful readers on here! Updates on this story will be quite frequent, and updates on my other Glee stories will be coming. I have been writing in my spare time, and now I have a lot of time on my hands, so you will definitely see some more chapters :)

So: questions of the chapter! What do you think of Rachel? Puck? Any thoughts on what his problem is?