Another fic! Look, guys. I promise I will finish what I started... well, mostly, anyways...

D/C: Oh, yeah. Because I'm the freaking genius who came up with glee. NOT.


"Why?" She whispered frantically, sad eyes locking into his. His liquid chocolate ones only stared back. He blinked. The sadness and confusion that were tearing at her only moments before had smouldered into a burning anger. It fizzled out and her will collapsed. She stood for a long moment, searching his eyes for any clues. They held no emotion. Something inside of her broke. She lost touch with everything momentarily, and when she resurfaced, she realized he was gone. She looked at the room around her. She was in the choir room. Is that where she was before? She couldn't remember seeing him leave, or how long she had been standing there staring at the spot where he had been. Her feet wouldn't move. Her body had shut her out. And then she was tingling all over, and her head was spinning. The floor tilted up at her, and her hands hit cool tile.

She knew she was conscious on some level. In a way, she never fully blacked out. She heard sirens and saw people rushing around. Her body was lifted and she was moving quickly down the hall. The walls and ceiling were a blur. Black seeped into the edges of her vision, but for some reason, she fought it.


"I have a feeling something's going on. You spend too much time with her! It's either 'practicing a solo,' or 'rehearsing a dance,' or some stupid excuse." Rachel almost yelled the words at him. Just moments before, she had been laughing and talking to him in a playful way. A fun way. Then, BOOM. The explosion.

"What are you talking about, Rach? I spend more time with you than anyone else. I love you." He edged closer to her, so that he could put a hand on her cheek. She slapped it away.

"Don't touch me," She whispered harshly, and felt guilty immediately. She saw his eyes melt, his face fall just a little bit. "Wait..." She said quietly to his back as he turned to leave. Then he was gone, and it was like he was never there, except for the progressively worsening sting he left behind.


What is wrong with me?

She sat, naked and shivering, in the corner of the bathroom with a knife in her hand.

He hates me now. He hates me and he'll never forgive me.

She took the knife in her right hand and held it over the skin on the back of her left hand, savoring the adrenalin she felt just from the closeness of the blade to her skin.

I deserve to be dead. I deserve to be punished.

She lowered the blade a little, so that it was hovering a millimeter above her hand.

I lost him.. and it's all my fault.

That last thought chased away her fear. She set the knife on the skin and pushed, harder, harder, and then a whoosh went through her body. She sliced the knife through her skin, expecting pain, but there was none. Only relief. She forgot everything that was troubling her. She was free for a moment. She dropped the knife. Then the moment was over and there was a three-inch-long cut on her hand, and it stung. She picked the knife back up and held it over her arm this time.