Note- This is my second fic ever and it was inspired after I found a community dedicated to revealing the Rachel behind her strong mask so this is my take at what happens when she takes it off.
Warning this contains self harm and character death, it is sad and if it isn't your cup of tea please do not read, no need for hate because you don't want to read about this topic. Oh and I do not own to Glee or any of it's characters so no copyright infringement... hopefully?
Her hands gripped the porcelain edge of her sink and she couldn't bring herself to raise her eyes from the drain to look in the mirror. She couldn't do it anymore. She was completely and totally overwhelmed. At first it had begun innocently enough, some taunting and name calling, but it quickly progressed into something more. Escalating at a rapid pace until she feared going to school each day and walking through the doors felt like walking to the gallows. Why was she doing it voluntarily again and again without fighting back? In the beginning Rachel thought it was her fault. She tried to figure out what it was that made her so different, so repulsive, so undesirable that the others just had to single her out. She convinced herself that if she could find that one bad trait and eliminate it she would be safe. The bullying would stop and she could go on with her life. How mistaken she was.
The first time she broke down it had been at school. She smiled sadly to herself as she remembered the first day of her downward spiral, She strode in so confidently, dressed in a new sweater her fathers had just bought her from a business trip away and less than five minutes after entering the school she was covered in a slushy, "Well hobbit, it seems that I thought wrong, your wardrobe can get worse. Where did you get that sweater, pathetic-r-us? Don't worry, I really think that the purple from my slushy makes it look better. Though it still doesn't look good, nothing can with you wearing it, why do you even try anymore?" Rachel ran to the nearest bathroom and barely managed to lock the stall door being her before dropping to her knees before a toilet. She had never made herself throw up before and if it weren't for the bile already rising in her throat from the speech the cheerio had given moments before, she probably wouldn't have been able to bring herself to do it. When it was over she felt better, in control. As if she had just purged herself of whatever it was that everyone else so hated in her. Ha, Rachel laughed to herself. How naive she had been. But for a while it was the only way she could stay in control. No matter how unfair life was to her, no matter how much she was pushed around, she could control this one thing. And that was all she needed for a while. Then, as in all spirals, it got worse.
She began to realize that no matter how many times she forced herself to throw up, she never was able to get rid of whatever it was that everyone hated so much about herself. It was so much worse than skin deep, it was a part of her down to her core. It pulsed through her with every breath she took and each beat her worn heart pumped. After a couple months of constantly purging herself and finding no gratification, she took the next step. It was a dreary day and after shoving her fingers down her throat at school during lunch and then again when she got home, Rachel slumped onto the bathroom floor, her shoulder leaning against the toilet she had gotten to know very well the past two months. She broke down crying, slumping forward her face in her hands, elbows on her knees, and her heart racing. Looking back on it, Rachel remembers distinctly thinking to herself, 'why doesn't it just stop beating? It's been broken and torn so many times how can it possibly keep going? Why can the body endure so much more than the soul?' All she wanted to do was hurt her body, make it show some of the brokenness she was feeling on the inside. On impulse Rachel grabbed for her razor, it was one of those cheap disposable things that only lasted a week before going dull, and gripped it in her fist so tightly her knuckles turned white. She gripped it like a lifeline.
Rachel smirked to herself- a sad, empty, humorless smirk- remembering the first time she did it. It was clumsy and inexperienced, inspired from despair and a feeling of hopelessness, it was desperate. She dragged the razor over and over again, swiping and digging deeper until finally the pathetic blades caught her skin and left two parallel red lines. Slowly the tiniest bit of blood seeped out and dripped down the side of her wrist. Rachel was completely absorbed in watching the twin droplets slide across her skin getting closer and closer together until they joined. It reminded her of watching raindrops slide down the car window when her fathers used to take her on car rides to nowhere. The sudden memory and the droplet dripping off of her wrist onto the floor made Rachel snap out of her haze and clasp a kleenex to her wound.
Over the following days, Rachel perfected her technique, by the end of the week she could execute a careful cut of her wrist without the clumsy digging and pulling that marked her first attempt. She had already become an expert at putting up a steely facade after the first odd look she received coming out of the bathroom following one of her purging sessions, now that hard front solidified and she could let the inevitable questions like, how can you wear long sleeves in this heat? and, are you sure you are alright? roll off her back. There was only one time her resolve almost broke and her strong mask nearly cracked.
She was in Glee club and they were rehearsing a number. Dancing with Puck her sleeves pushed back and he caught sight of the telltale white train tracks of scars, marring her arms. After the practice he pulled her aside. "Rachel, I have spent time with too many washed up no goods to not know what those scars mean, you don't get marks like that from cat scratches or itching your arm in class so don't even try any of those lame excuses. From one Jew to another, you are too good for this, of all of us in this shit town, you can make it out. You can be something, don't throw that away. Really, Rach, are you alright." Rachel managed to school her features into an expressionless mask and reply calmly, "I don't know what you think you saw Puck, but I can assure you I am completely and totally fine and I would appreciate it if you not bring any more light to these outrageous accusations in the future."
That was two days ago and Puck had not said anything since. Rachel had almost been hoping he would speak out, hoping that he could be her lifeline, instead of her razor. But alas he had failed her. No, she had failed herself the first day in the bathroom when she had tricked herself into believing that the only way to gain control was through self harm. But there was no way back from here. She was hopelessly lost in the woods and had not even thought to leave a trail out, she had been so convinced that she was headed in the right direction she hadn't paid attention to where she was going or how to escape.
Slowly, Rachel shook her head back and forth, no matter what she seemed to do she could not feel anymore. Not in the same way as before. It was as if all of her senses were dulled and she needed to cut to make sure that she could feel something, anything. Screwing up the last of her courage, there was not much left, she dragged her head up to face her reflection. What stared back at her was no longer Rachel, and it frightened her to no end. Her once pink warm cheeks were gaunt and hallow, her hair that used to be sleek and lush now shone with grease and hung limply. But the scariest part of all was her eyes, before her downward spiral they sparkled with life, wonder, and hope for the future, they used to be happy and warm- a true window to her fragile soul. Now when she looked herself in the eye all she saw were dark empty black pools staring back at her, it was as if someone had blown out the source of light behind them. Gazing into her eyes, Rachel was reminded of a quote from Nietzsche; "If you gaze long enough into an abyss the abyss will gaze back into you." Rachel had spent so long gazing into the dark lonely abyss her highschool life turned out to be that it over took her, staring at her dark lifeless eyes in the mirror there was no denying it and Rachel knew once and for all what she had to do.
She swung forward the mirror to reveal a cabinet perfectly organized to make her morning routine as time effective as possible. Reaching up to the top shelf where she stored all of her medications for when she fell ill, Rachel got her new bottle of Asprin. She closed the cabinet, taking extra care to ensure she didn't make eye contact with her reflection and instead focused all of her attention on the object in her hand. The bottle was nothing special, she had held dozens like it in the past years as the sweet relief the pills inside provided were her only remedy to the horrible headache daily life gave her. Yet this one seemed so much more menacing. In a haze of sudden determination she grasped the top and gave it a quick wrench. The bottle slipped from her sweaty slick hands and landed in the sink, causing Rachel to jump back as though she had been bitten. Relax Rachel. It's just a bottle, get a grip.
She retrieved the bottle and tried again, this time she was successful. Carefully she shook out a handful of the brick colored pills. They were so small and mundane but the knowledge that these little capsules would be the last thing to pass through her lips caused Rachel to break down. Until this point she had been able to hold herself together, solider on with her plan without any second thoughts but now her resolve faltered. Gently- as if she were afraid that dropping one would shatter the pill, her self control, and any other facet she still had a hold of- Rachel slid the pills from her hand onto the counter. Aloud she told herself, "One for Quinn, who began the abuse my freshman year," And swallowed the first pill. "One for Santana, who always found something wrong with me I didn't even know could be wrong with a person," She swallowed another, "One for Fin, who used me and threw me away again when it was convenient for him" and downed another, "One for all of the slushies I took to the face," the pile on the counter was slowly disappearing, "One for the football team and one for the cheerios that always found a reason to throw them," two more went away. Rachel kept on like that as her reasons keep piling up, the mound of pills was vanishing until she ran out. But, she was not out of reasons, not even close. Rachel spilled out more and continued. She kept going giving reasons and taking the medication until her vision slowly faded and she felt her head hit the bathroom floor. Before she was completely overtaken by the blackness she brought one final pill to her mouth and whispered, "And one for me, and everything I did and didn't do to bring myself to this point."
Hope you all like it! Remember this is my second Fic ever so all reviews are greatly appreciated and welcomed. I know this was a really sad story and a serious topic but maybe with enough attention drawn to it on a forum such as this we can do something to make a difference! Thank you!