A/N Hello, my reader peoples! Here's chapter one of my crazy-ass story 'Losing It'. Please, if you're gonna review, I don't want any shit cuz this is my first story in which it's not about happy things, so peoples, don't be mean! Kay, thanks for reading, enjoy! :D

I heard my dad shout for me downstairs as I shoved around my drawers, opening and closing them, searching for a specific something. "Where is it?!" I huffed under my breath. Finally, my dad came upstairs, threw my door open and yelled "SANTANA LOPEZ. GET YOUR ASS DOWNSTAIRS NOW!" and slammed it shut, storming away.
I swore under my breath, and kept searching for the object. Finally, I found it. A stainless steel knife, with jade encrusted in the handle. A look of despair crept across my face as I pulled up my long sleeve tshirt, only to reveal the previous indentations I had made. I brought the blade to my upper arm. I cut it slightly, and then more so, slicing it precisely, and drawing beautiful red dots of blood.
It was the summer before my first year of highschool. Before I went downstairs, I made sure to make various cuts on my arm, before carefully placing the knife under my pillow, knowing that I would be using in again soon.
I raced downstairs, only to be immediately bashed in the face by my father. Another punch was thrown onto my back. My shoulder. And then my face again. Thirty minutes later, my very much high and drunk father was in the garage, and I was laying on the living room floor, bruised and bleeding.
It's not like this treatment isn't something I'm used to. Everyday, my father would take advantage of his ability to take drugs and drink alcohol, and he would beat me, but I suppose that's the downside of living in Lima Hights. My mom wanted to divorce against the abusive bastard, but she was afraid, because she knew he would beat her as well.
Every night after he would beat me, he would go into the garage until my mom got home, and would leave. He said he just went to the bar to drink with his buddies, but my mom and I both knew that he would go out and bang with some random bitch at a strip club.
When he would leave, my mom would fix my cuts and bruises. She was very well aware with my self-mutilation, but she knew taking away my knife would only make matters worse. Instead, she encouraged me to try and make smaller cuts, and less of them everyday.
She also knew and very well understood that these cuts were never going to lead to suicide. I love myself, don't get me wrong, but I just needed these cuts. It was also difficult to stop. See, in most cases, this self harm can become addicting, and the more you do it, the harder it is to stop.
Sprawled across the living room, I didn't wake up, and the pounding feelings of my father's fists didn't stop, even when he did. When my mom arrived, my dad left, only leaving my mother and my unconscious body in the house. As soon as she saw that I wasn't moving, she ran to my side.
I didn't awaken until the next day, which happened to be the first day of school. I cried a bit, and then woke up to get ready. Of course I was well rested, however I was sore, and every move I made seemed to make my bones ache. I shook off the feeling and stepped in the shower. Everything stung, and my whole body felt like it was on fire, not to mention the open cuts that I had created only minutes ago.
Stepping out of the shower, I examined my arms, legs and stomach. Of course I would wear a long sleeve shirt, and skinny jeans, because I was really embarrassed of the cuts that lay on my arms and legs. I looked at them and on my stomach alone, lay thirteen bruises. I winced as I pulled my shirt over my head. On my wrist, lay at least 20 cuts, and 10 scars. I pulled a bracelets over them that read 'STOP ABUSE'.
I put on perfume, and lotion that helped my bruises. I pulled on my old, beaten up converse, grabbed my backpack, and started walking to school. While walking, I was glad that I hadn't seen any adult, as my mother would leave for work at five, and my father had a habit of bringing home his-uh-'friends' he meets at the strip clubs. Once I arrived, I was paraded by nervous freshman, frantically trying to map out everything, sophomores and juniors just laughing with their friends, and seniors, looking over everyone as if to say 'Shut the hell up, you'll be fine'.
I arrived at my locker, only to be met by three girls. Two blondes in blinding red cheerleading outfits, in which the skirts were definitely crossing the lines of the student handbook. The other was a brunette. She was wearing short, denim shorts, a fitting leather jacket, and a rugged halter top. She had a bandanna in her hair-which was messy and obviously not brushed-and Ray Bans.
One blonde spoke to me, the one with the musty green eyes, "So, who are you? You look like a freshman. You'd make a great Cheerio." I must have looked at her with confusion, as she explained, "That's what our coach calls the cheerleading team."
I looked at the outfits. Short sleeves and high skirts would show off my cuts and bruises. I didn't want anyone to see them, because that would cause my secret to get out. Before I could answer her, the blonde with the brilliant blue eyes replied, "Quinnie, she obviously doesn't want to! Anyways, you really should introduce yourself first, don't be rude!"
The other blonde sighed. "I'm sorry. You're right." She turned to me, held out her hand, and said "Hi, I'm Quinn Fabray. Head of the Cheerios." I shook her hand, and finally, the brunette spoke. "Hey, I'm Rachel Berry. School bad ass." She looked at me, and leaned against the lockers. 'Why is the 'school bad ass' hanging around a couple blonde Cheerios?'Before I could ask, the other blonde said "And I'm Brittany S. Pierce. You're probably wondering why Rae spends any time with two cheerleaders? It's because we're the only ones who put up with her."
Rachel smacked her arm and replied, "Bitch! Although it may be true, you don't have to flaunt it!" Quinn laughed, and said "Well, I just have to say something before you become one of our friends, which you are going to. Rachel here is dating Blaine Anderson, the school's other bad ass, so if you see a hot, curly haired boy smoking cigarettes behind school grounds, keep your Latina hands off. Britts here is dating cripple Artie Abrams, so you stay away from wheels. And I'm dating Finn Hudson, captain of the football team, so keep your hands off him too. Got it?" Santana merely nodded, before the bell rang and was cascaded to math class.

A/N Hope you liked it! I have sooo much time on my hands, that chapter two will be coming sooner rather than later. Please review! And if you don't like it, don't read it, and don't review! I'm all for review that's telling me what I did wrong, but I'm against assholes telling me that Blaine is gay, Brittany's a retard, and Rachel's a prep. Love you guys!