I pulled out a pen and wrote the lyrics on my arm. "But there's a side to you/ That I never knew, never knew."
I sighed, staring at the marked arm. I brushed the last of the concealer on and walked out the front door.
I drove to school, letting the radio engulf me. I thought about the lyrics on my arm, and the secret they covered.
It had all started about a year ago. I confessed my love for Brittany and she shot me down for the RoboCripple 3000.
Now that Britt and I were together, I had stopped the secret. But the lyrics were a form of self-expression. I had written a ton of songs already, Brittany loved them, but no one else knew I was a song writer.
And now I got to waste 8 hours of my life until I got to sing.
When I got to school I reached my locker, Brittany trailing behind me.
I glanced at my arm out of habit, making sure no lyrics were visible. Brittany caught my glance.
"Which one is it today?"
I sighed and ducked my head, I was caught.
"Set Fire to the Rain by Adele." I admitted softly.
She shook her head. "You should show Mr. Schue your songs."
I grimaced. No, he would try to turn my apparent genius into something that could help the team. And then I would start getting requests, and… oh no, I feel a song…
The rest of the day I had lyrics in my brain. All these lyrics.
"I'm a genius, you try to use it, try to abuse it"
"Requests I hear don't belong with me, don't belong with us, oh no."
"Why, oh why, did I let my walls down?"
As the day ended I breathed a sigh of relief. I scrambled to the studio and penned the new song.
A few hours later I got a call from Brittany.
"How's the song coming?"
She felt my apprehension over the phone so she clarified, "You've been humming all day and were lost in thought most of the time. I've known you too long not to notice."
I smiled. "How's this?" I cleared my throat.
"You keep trying to change me,
But I'm not like that baby,
Why, oh why-y did I let you in?
Why did I tell you, my friend?
You say I got potential,
You say I'm in my prime,
Requests I hear don't belong with me, don't belong with us, oh no.
I can't believe, you tried this shit,
Why did I tell you,
Why did I confide in you?
You keep trying to change me,
But I'm not like that baby,
Why, oh why-y did I let you in?
Why did I tell you, my friend?
Apparently, I'm a genius,
You went and tried to abuse it,
More worried about your money than me
You keep trying to change me,
But I'm not like that baby,
Why, oh why-y did I let you in?
Why did I tell you, my friend?
Why did I tell you?
My-y Friend"
I heard her hesitation and held my breath.
"Can you send me that? That's my new ringtone."
I smiled and said "One step ahead of you."
The loading bar finished and I texted it to Brittany.
She squealed. "YAY!"
/
The next day in glee Brittany's phone rang.
"You keep trying to change me,
But I'm not like that baby,
Why, oh why-y did I let you in?
Why did I tell you, my friend?
You say-"
She answered and I smiled. Damn, I'm good.
Mr. Schue raised an eyebrow. Crap, none of them knew.
Brittany hung up.
"What song was that Brittany?"
I glanced at her, pleading with her not to say.
"It's Santana's." she smiled. Great.
The club turned to me. Double great.
I stood up and headed to the auditorium. I better do this with style, I thought.
"Well, are you coming?"
Once I in the auditorium and everyone was settled I headed on stage, dragging Brittany behind me. I picked up the guitar and played a simple but fast-paced tune while Brittany was on bass.
"You keep trying to change me,
But I'm not like that baby,
Why, oh why-y did I let you in?
Why did I tell you, my friend?
You say I got potential,
You say I'm in my prime,
Requests I hear don't belong with me, don't belong with us, oh no.
I can't believe,
You tried this crap,
Why did I tell you,
Why did I confide in you?
You keep trying to change me,
But I'm not like that baby,
Why, oh why-y did I let you in?
Why did I tell you, my friend?
Apparently, I'm a genius,
You went and tried to abuse it,
More worried about your money than me
You keep trying to change me,
But I'm not like that baby,
Why, oh why-y did I let you in?
Why did I tell you, my friend?
Why did I tell you?
My-y Friend"
When I finished it was dead silent.
Kurt spoke up. "Who does the original? I want to buy it on iTunes."
A chorus of agreement rose from the club.
I shook my head.
"Me. I wrote it. And countless others."
The club fell silent.
"That sounds like something Adele would sing." Kurt said, still unconvinced.
"Ugh, it's called You Don't Understand. By Santana Lopez. I have a recording studio in my basement and I write songs. And poetry. If you come to the Lima Bean on Friday nights I sing."
I realized with a muted sense of irony that the song I wrote about abusing my songwriting ability became the thing that made me tell the club.
"Write a song. Now." Puck said, still obviously skeptical.
"Okay, what about?" I raised an eyebrow.
"You being outed." He said.
"Ugh, I have like, fifteen songs about that already. Something else."
Brittany smiled sadly at me. "Your problem."
I tensed. She saw. "Santana as of now you've only been dealing with the easier of the hard pain. I know for a fact you have never written about that. And you need to. Since you stopped you've been handling your issues well, but they need to know and you need to let it out."
I grimaced. The club had the poster child for confusion splayed across their features.
"I-I can't."
Brittany stared at me, studying my reaction. "Come on Santana, it's not like you're still- you aren't, are you?"
I nodded. "I stopped, Britt. It just feels so real thinking about it."
"What does, Santana?" Quinn asked. I shook my head.
"Please?" Brittany asked.
"Someone get me a pen and paper." I grumbled.
Puck made a whipping sound under his breath as Rachel handed me paper and a pen.
Brittany kicked his head. I would have to thank her later.
I sat down at the piano. I played my favorite chord and got up, resting my head on the black wood. I furiously scribbled lyrics, rubbed off the makeup on my arm and stared past the lyrics onto the scars.
"They're lyrics." Brittany explained to a probably confused glee club. Of course they would wonder why I had marker on my arm, not why I was staring at it.
A few minutes later I had a jumble of phrases spread out. Now came the hard part. I grabbed a clean sheet of paper and started organizing them.
I copied my second draft onto a third piece of paper and stepped up to the mic. I glanced at my watch. It had been about an hour, which was average for me. The shortest time was 15 minutes, but that was a song that I had mentally organized throughout the day.
"Hope you get the message." I scowled.
"I hated myself
Until I found you
You helped me on my way
But this thing,
It won't go away,
I need an escape from the pain
It still feels so real
The blade still feels so cool
My only escape
The devil's tool
It broke your heart to see the scars
Of a scared little girl
Who put up her walls
Shoved the world away
But what you don't understand
Is that it still feels awful
And I'm sorry
It broke my heart, too
It still feels so real
The blade still feels so cool
My only escape
The devil's tool
I should thank you, my savior
But the world won't go away
Write words on my arms to hide my scars
Can't stand doing that again,
But what you can't understand
It still feels so real
The blade still feels so cool
My only escape
The devil's tool
And it broke my heart
To do this
And it broke my heart, too."
The club was stunned. I glared at the white lines running across my forearm. I had already revealed way too much about myself today.
"Well that was fun." I said, and stalked off the stage, barely holding back tears. Brittany ran after me.
I ran to the bathroom and leaned against the sink.
I stared at my arms. Why? Why had I done this?
I felt a hand on my back. I let the tears fall.
I looked up and saw shining blue reflected in the mirror. There was something else, too… another blonde. Quinn.
I tried to put my walls back up but it was to no avail. I turned on the tap and rinsed off the lyrics that covered the scars.
I whirled around and saw that all the glee girls were there. Great, I had an audience.
I cleared my throat and Brittany wrapped me in a hug. I sobbed into her, not caring about the vulnerability I radiated.
The club shifted awkwardly.
"I told you I couldn't. I had to relive that. Like my song said it broke my heart too."
I pulled away and wiped away my smudged mascara. I decided just to screw it all and I wiped my face, arms, and legs of the makeup, the concealer.
I poked at my ribs and white-hot pain ripped through my memory.
The club gulped. I was a mess. I had cut my eyebrow, so I had a fine line running vertically across it. My arms were a mess, my legs had a few cuts, and I lifted up the top half of my uniform to examine the line that ran there as well.
Tina approached me. I bared my teeth.
Brittany frowned. "Snix." I managed to tell her.
Tina didn't stop moving forward until she had a hand on my back. I looked at her with confusion.
Soon all the club girls had their hands on me, comforting me.
After a few minutes I shrugged them off and made my way back to the auditorium.
I sat in silence until the end of the day.
When everyone was gone, I told Brittany I would meet her in the parking lot, and she shrugged.
I curled up into a ball on the stage, hugging my knees.
"It still feels so real
The blade still feels so cool
My only escape
The devil's tool" I muttered under my breath.
I heard applause and my head snapped up. It was Fabray. Ugh.
"Your songs are beautiful. Can I hear another one?"
I grimaced but sang the first song that came to mind.
"God, how I hate you Finn
Why'd you tell all your friends
I thought we were cool
I was your beard, your cover
I shouldn't have been pressured
You asshole Finn.
Grow up, you should know, how real this is
Why don't you come out instead?
Asshole, asshole
You're an asshole, asshole,
And you hurt me real bad
I shouldn't have been pressured
You asshole Finn.
Grow up, you should know, how real this is
Why don't you come out instead?"
I smirked at her reaction.
"Finn's gay?" she asked, but it was more of a statement.
I nodded.
"Oh my god, give me that, I want it as my ringtone."
/
When I got home I sat in my recording studio, thinking.
What a day this had been.
I strummed a guitar thoughtfully.
"What a day
This has been
Wrote about the scars
Had to relive it…"
AN: Never cut never will. The songs are all original, and I have never written a song before in my life, at least not one that's an actual song. Let me know what you think!