a/n - This story will be fairly dark, and deep. Just a warning to you all. Don't hate on me, it's my way of coping with my thoughts. I sadly do not own New Tricks, although i wish i did :)
Anyway, trigger warning for this first chapter - mentions of self harm.
Line after line… tear after tear…heartache after heartache. Was it ever going to end? Her one love had just begun a new relationship. No matter how much she loved him, he would never love her back. He clearly didn't, otherwise he would have acted on it by now. He knew her well enough. He saw her enough. He spent enough time with her.
Her vision quickly became blurry as she hastily wiped the tears away. It was the only way that she knew that would get rid of the pain. Even if it was only for a brief amount of time. It was better than permanently hurting. As her tears became heavier, her smile became wider. She glanced down at her wrist. Small beads of blood danced across the ten lines she had drawn on her forearm. She did it once more and watched the blood trickle down her arm. Did she really want to continue? Without thinking, she had done it again.
She had met many people who had gone through the same thing, and had the same marks left on their skin. Although, hers were much worse. Many people had witnessed some tragic events which were imprinted on their skin forever. Hers, on the other hand, were self-inflicted out of hatred; for herself and the people around her. She had worked cases where a key individual had attempted suicide, and the sights scarred her. They had once scared her. She could never understand the pain someone felt to try and take their own life. Now, she understood everything. The amount of pain they had felt; the thoughts racing through their minds and the feeling they had when that one piece of metal kissed their skin. It was her addiction. But with this addiction, came pain. Lots and lots of pain. Strangely, not physical pain, but mental pain and exhaustion. She had grown sick and tired of wearing long sleeves. She had become tired of being strong and sick of loving him.
She loved him, she knew that. She had known him for eight years now, and God she loved him. She wanted to tell him. Let out all the hurt, pain, disappointment and anger on someone other than herself. But she didn't want to hurt him. She couldn't do that to him. He meant the world to her. She suddenly felt very vulnerable, and very needy. She needed him.
The door to the main office opened suddenly and the footsteps of her colleague's echoes through the room. Her panic eased as she realised she had locked her office door and shut the blinds. She put the small piece of metal away in her handbag before speedily wiping the blood from her wrists and wrapping it with a wound dressing. As soon as she was cleaned up, she stood once more. She was just in time.
"Sandra, are you here?"
She knew that voice. It was him. How could she love him? He was her boss for god's sake. She remained quiet; hoping he would go away and leave her alone. Luckily, he left along with a trail of footsteps. The others had gone too. She put her jacket on, and unlocked the door.
"Sandra?"