Title: These Scars Remind Us
Trigger Warnings: School shootings, depression, suicide, PTSD, self harm.
Rating: M
A/N: Okay, so I wanted to write this. I keep have this recurring dream about this... so I just decided to write it in the form of Glee. Have fun, beware of the trigger warnings. Enjoy, lovelies.
A/N #2: Mostly AU and OOC. There are some similarities, but mostly, no.

I never knew her name, but I wanted to. The only thing that I knew her by was "3rd Row, 7th Seat from the Left" in my Psychology class. I also know that she saved my life… but besides that and a little scar next to her eyebrow, the rest of her was a mystery to me.

From what I could tell, she was quite reserved and kept to herself. I wanted to know who she was, why she was so quiet. She intrigued me. I could tell by her rigid exterior that her life hadn't always been sunshine and rainbows.

The one and only thing I knew about this girl was that she cared enough to save my life. We had never said a word to each other, only exchanged glances across the classroom, but… she saved me.

It was February 19, 2009. The air was crisp and cold, so cold you could even see your breath lingering. We were sitting in our usual Psychology class when one of our classmates walked in. He strutted towards the front of the room, his trench coat dangling just above the ground, his head was facing down as he began to speak.

"You know, we all fight battles inside. Our inner demons. I think that was the only thing I learned from this damned class. My inner battle… my thirst for suffering and pain. I don't want to fight anymore. I hope that one day, I can be forgiven for this. Can I still get into heaven if I kill myself?"

Before we knew it, he had pulled two guns hidden away in his coat, firing into the crowd. Screams sounded as shots rung through the classroom.

The last thing I remember from that day was "3rd Row, 7th Seat from the Left" pushed me out of the way of a line of bullets that would have hit me point blank in the chest had I not moved. Instead, one hit me in the leg, and the other grazed my ribcage. We landed on the ground with a loud thud. Over 10 shots were shot in my direction, only two hit me. I always wondered if the girl got hit and how many hit her if she got hit at all. All I saw was red before passing out.

I woke up in the hospital hours later. My leg was wrapped in blood-stained gauze and my so was my side. I remember feeling a sharp pain in my forehead. I found out that I had sutures in my forehead, probably from the impact of hitting the hard ground.

I continually asked for the girl who saved me, but since I had no idea what her name was, the doctors had no idea who I was talking about.

I never saw "3rd Row" again. It's been two years since the incident…

I wonder how she is, my savior. Is she alive or dead? Does she still have that raven black hair, gorgeous mocha colored eyes, and perfectly caramelized skin?

Where is she?

I sighed as I finished the entry in my notebook, re-reading it before shutting the cover. If you had asked me two years ago if I had ever imagined myself to be here, I would tell you no.

I wouldn't expect myself to live in San Francisco 3,335 miles away from my home in Maine with my best friend (who just so happened to be a therapist/psychologist), her daughter, and her girlfriend.

I never expected myself to have to take a pill everyday just to deal with life or even leave the house.

I never expected I would be here, wondering why I got to live and so many had to die.

I never expected to be suicidal or depressed.

Before any of this happened, I was just Brittany S. Pierce. Sheltered from every bad thing in the world.

But now that the damage was done, I have to keep my head above water.

Quinn told me the only way I could try to get past this was to write about it. Every time I had a night terror or a bad thought, I had re-write the memory of the shooting. She said it would give me closure. She was kind of right, I mean, I was better than I was before.

I pushed myself up from my desk chair and exited my bedroom. I made my way upstairs to find Quinn sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper and drinking coffee.

"Morning, Brittany." She said before looking over the top of the newspaper. "Sleep well?"

I shook my head, "No… the dream, it… it came back." I said almost in a whimper.

"Did you write it down?" She asked persistently. I just nodded. "Good. Your medicine is on the counter. We're going to the Golden Gate Bridge, today. Would you care to join us?"

I simply nodded as I walked towards the kitchen counter, grabbing a cup of water. I hated that I had to be babied, but without Quinn, I would probably be dead by this point. I placed the assortment of pills into my mouth and took a huge gulp of water to wash them down.

I stood at the counter a while longer to read the labels of each pill bottle. Each were perfectly labeled with "Pierce, Brittany Susan" and the instructions for dosage. I carefully re-read each name on the bottles, trying to remember what each was for.

Clonazepam… Generic name Klonopin… for my anxiety.
Paroxetine … Generic name Paxil… for my depression and PTSD.
Trazodone... for an increase in seretonin, also used for my insomnia.

And if things get really bad, I have Quetiapine (Seroquil) to help sedate me and stabilize any psychosis problem occurring.

At one point, I was one more than that, but Quinn cut back after realizing it was better having a best friend than a zombie walking around the house.

I sat down at the kitchen table next to Quinn as she continued to read the newspaper. "I know that we don't get you out much, and since Melanie has never been to the Golden Gate Bridge, I figured it was time to show her."

I just nodded. We didn't always live in San Francisco… in fact, we just moved here. I had yet to visit the Golden Gate Bridge myself, except for the one time when we drove over it. But I knew today we were walking across it.

I mentally prepared myself for our near adventure to the bridge. It wasn't often I even got out of the house, and now we're going to a heavily populated bridge full of tourists and loud noises… great.

The drive to the bridge was not fun for me. The entire drive there was full of nostalgic feelings from the previous dream I had about the shooting. Plus, the drugs were hardly kicking in, I just felt super nauseous. But Quinn was only trying to help get me out of the house, so I agreed.

Why did I have to agree?

As we drove over the bridge, thoughts of my body crashing into the ocean waves below started to plague my mind. I sighed loudly, and it hardly went unnoticed by Quinn. She reached across the seat and patted me on my thigh, careful not to pat too hard from where I had gotten all of my surgery from the bullet. She had that look in her eyes that said "It's okay" as the car made it to the other side of the bridge. She parallel parked the car and threw some change in the meter as I helped get Melanie out of the car.

"Okay, Melanie. Stay with your mommy, okay? Don't be scared if I lose you guys, I can't walk as fast as your or your mom." I explained to Melanie before limping over towards Quinn. "She's all set."

"Thanks B. Did you need your cane or anything?" Quinn asked before closing her car doors. I shook my head. After a year of physical therapy to strengthen my leg, I almost refused to use the cane. Quinn kept it handy, though, just in case.

"No, I'll just walk slower, it's okay." I smiled in her direction. Quinn simply nodded before heading towards the bridge with Mel's hand in hers. I followed suit, slowly, of course.

I started feeling that gut instinct that I had while driving over the bridge. I had never walked across the Golden Gate Bridge, nor had I ever really walked anywhere in San Francisco. I gulped loudly as I passed a sign at the entrance of the bridge walk that stated: CRISIS COUNSELING. THERE IS HOPE, MAKE THE CALL. THE CONSEQUENCES OF JUMPING FROM THIS BRIDGE ARE FATAL AND TRAGIC.

Fatal and Tragic. Those two words stuck out to me like sore thumbs. I slowly made my way onto the bridge, keeping my eyes on Melanie and Quinn. The whole time, I felt like if I just threw myself over the edge quickly, no one would really notice.

I hated feeling this way, like I couldn't even live normally, but I couldn't. I heard the waves crashing below and all I could think about was "that should be my home for the rest of my miserable life".

I continued walking across the bridge, sloth-like almost. I watched as Melanie saw a bird sitting on the bridge, letting go of Quinn's hand. "Mommy, mommy! Let's go look at the birdie." I heard her cry out as she ran away from Quinn.

"Mel, wait up!" Quinn screamed before running after her daughter.

This was my chance. Quinn was gone and no one was around to stop me. I turned to my right to look out into the ocean. Just jump, Brittany. Just jump…I thought as I continued to stare down at the waves. I stood on the fence that bordered the outside of the bridge, the one little barrier keeping me from falling. I pushed my weight onto my hands as I stood on my tip-toes, ready to just throw myself over the edge.

"Shit… this is really high up." I muttered out loud.

"Yeah, it is really high up." A voice called from behind me. Startled, I lost my footing, my stomach hitting the top part of the fence. Shit, I was really about to fall off the Golden Gate Bridge.

I have most of the next chapter written, but I wanted to see how this did. I want to know if you want me to continue? This is just like an introduction. It's super interesting from here, I promise.