Drip, drip, drip.

The red droplets slowly fell from my wrist, into the sink below. It didn't hurt, the cutting, and that's what upset me. It wasn't the constant depression, the smoldering silence at night, or the water works before I fell asleep that bothered me. No, it wasn't the name calling, the lack of parents- or lack of anyone, really. It wasn't the pain inside of me that bothered me. It was the fact that I've quit feeling that bothered me. The pain, the depression, the silence, the scars and cuts, they're friends. They were all I had. Tears fell freely down my cheeks, although I had no idea what I was crying over. I felt no pain, and honestly, it scared me. I felt empty.

"Santana, we're going out!" I heard Maribel call from downstairs. I stopped referring to her as my mother a long time ago. She was never home. Always gone, along with my father. They never checked in with me to see if I was alright, how I was doing in school, or if I ate that day. They were strangers.

I cleared my throat, and walked over to the bathroom door, which was closed and locked. I unlocked it, opened the door slightly, and poked my head out, yelling "Okay!" There was a rustling sound, a short mumbled conversation, then the door slamming shut, indicating that they left for the night. I wouldn't see them tomorrow, that was a promise.

I shut the bathroom door, then glanced at my wrist again. Blood was still gushing out slowly, but it didn't hurt. I stood there and watched the blood as a familiar feeling of comfort and safeness took over my body. Drawing blood from my own body was the only thing that made me feel alive, the only thing other than music that was my release. I walked over to the sink, and turned the tap on. Blood from my wrist mixed with water from the tap in a whirlpool, spiraling down the drain. A soft buzz ran throughout the room. I paid no attention to it at first, then I realized it was my phone. Probably texts from Blaine, he was the only one that cared. I cleaned my wrist off, then went to grab my phone.

San?

Hey, can I come over?

Are you okay?

If you don't text back in the next 10 minutes, I'm coming over.

I sighed. Ever since I was found unconscious alone in my house one night, Blaine had always been over-protective and always worried about what I was doing. I never told him the truth about what I was doing most of the time, though. It'd crush the poor boy.

You don't have to worry about me. But I'm busy tonight, maybe tomorrow.

I left my phone on the counter, put four band-aids on my wrist, and cleaned up the mess. I picked up my blade, and left the bathroom. My room wasn't far from the bathroom. The walls were painted black, and the room was constantly dark, just like my mood. Off to the left was my bed pushed against the wall, and to the right was my dresser. A desk was pushed up against another wall. A nightstand stood beside my bed with a single lamp. That was all that was in my room, along with the poster above my bed. There was a hole behind the poster that only I knew about. I took the two bottom tacks out of the poster, and dropped the blade in the small hole. I had in the hole a few other blades, bloody and clean Kleenex, band-aids and a knife that I didn't use too often. I tacked the poster back up, then went and sat at my desk. The desk was a deep blue, with small splats of white all over it. To the left was 3 drawers, and to the right side was space for my legs. I opened the top drawer, pulled out a black pen, then opened the second drawer, and pulled out a sheet of lined paper. The pen glided effortlessly across the paper.

Joseph, Maribel, Blaine.

I'm writing this letter here for you all because when you get home, I won't be here. No, I'm not running away. This is a suicide note.

Mom, Dad.

I love you guys. And I know you loved me, too, but... I was alone. All alone. You guys never knew about what went on in my life. I was a lesbian, and I often, on a daily basis, got bullied for it, beaten for it. Did you know that? No. But it's okay, I'm happy now. I have cuts and scars all over my body. Did you know that? No. But it's okay, I'm happy now. The silence, and the depression was- did- kill me. I was depressed. Did you know what? No. But it's okay, I'm happy now. Severe anxiety. Anorexic. Suicidal. Helpless. Bet you didn't know that. But mom, dad, it's okay. Don't worry, because it's all okay now. It's all better. I'm happy now, and you don't have to worry about me. It's all better now.

Blaine,

Thank you. Thank you for everything you've ever done for me. Thank you for comforting me late at night when I had no one else, when I couldn't handle it. You were the closest thing to family to me. You were like a brother, always beating up the bullies when I wasn't strong enough to, standing up to the teasing when I couldn't find my voice, kissing the scars on my skin and never leaving my side. I couldn't thank you enough. It was a joy having you in my life, but unfortunately, I couldn't handle it all anymore. "I kissed the scars on her skin. I still think you're beautiful, and I don't ever wanna lose my best friend." I'm sorry I had to leave you, Blaine, but it's for the better. I'm happy now. Whenever you hear A Match Into Water, think about me, Blaine. Remember that was our song. I love you, Blaine. Don't forget me, don't forget.

This is my final goodbye.

-Santana.

I slowly folded the paper up. There were small damp spots from where the tears had landed when I wrote the letter. I knew no one would miss me, except Blaine. He was the only friend I really had. I picked up and envelope from the second drawer, and slipped the letter in. Sealing it shut, I wrote "Joseph, Maribel, Blaine." on the front. I stood up, pushed in my chair, and headed downstairs. I placed the letter on the kitchen counter where my parents would be sure to see it. The letter floated delicately onto the counter, as if carrying my suicide note was no big deal.

A key item in my plan was in the garage- a piece of rope. The cool winter wind blew violently outside. It was pitch black. Perfect, typical scenery for tragedy to strike, wasn't it? Almost like a movie scene, or a story. I grabbed my winter coat, slipped my converse on, and walked out into the cool night.

Snow was blown around in ever direction, whipping me smack in the face. I wouldn't have been surprised if I died of frost bite, rather than suicide. The mixture of the violent wind whipping and the powdery snow that rest on the ground clouded my vision of the garage, but the dim light of the motion censor light on the garage shown through, guiding me towards it and it's warmth. I struggled against the wind, but eventually made it into the garage. It was definitely much warmer than the outside, but it was still very cold. Like a typical garage, there was a baby blue, run-down car that we stopped using. The paint was pealing, and the engine quit working. Cluttered shelves lined the walls, tools hung from nails on the walls, and there were garbage bags full of old garbage, causing the musky smell of the garage, and the sink of the garbage to mix into an almost intolerable smell. I spotted the rope at the back of the garage, hanging wrapped around a nail. I stepped over garbage bags, tool boxes and tools to get to the rope. I pulled it off of the nail, and unraveled it. It was far too long for me to use.

"Shit," I mumbled. "Where's that-" I then remembered about the knife in my wall. I heard a loud thump on the side of the garage that caused me to jump. I clenched my pounding heart. It was just snow falling from the roof. The wind howled like a wolf.

Once I got back inside the house, my skin felt like it was frozen, but burning all at once. I clenched and unclenched my hands in attempt to warm them up. I guess it didn't really matter, I'd be dead soon, anyways. I hung my jacket up, took my shoes off, and jogged up the stairs and into my room. Taking the tacks off the poster once again, I pulled out the sharp hunting knife I stole from Joseph. I tied a noose, then cut ff the extra rope. I made sure I left enough rope for me to hang the noose from something. The blade of the knife was fairly sharp, and would probably glide easily against my skin. Pressing it to wrist, I made a clean cut that drew blood. I smiled, satisfied, because when I used a pencil sharpener blade, it took me a few times to make a simple cut. I proceeded to make small and long slits along my wrists, up my arms, then, taking off my jeans, I cut along my legs. Soon, my body was covered with dripping blood. It didn't bother me.

There was a pole that ran across my ceiling, another key item in my plan. I hung the noose from the pole, then ran downstairs to the kitchen. In the kitchen were 3 small bar stools. I grabbed one, then looked my letter that sat on the counter. I picked it up, carefully running my fingers over it. I took my right index finger, collected blood from my left wrist, and smeared a small, bloody, sloppy heart on the envelope. I was left-handed, so it was sort of difficult to draw with my right. Giving it a light kiss, I set it back on the counter, then ran upstairs, almost slipping on the blood that dropped onto the floor in the process.

Once everything was in place- the stool, the letter, and the noose-, I went to the bathroom to text Blaine. I had a few missed texts from the boy, and even a missed call. I knew he was getting worried.

What are you doing?
San?
San. You know our rule. I'm starting to worry.
Santana, I'm coming over.

Blaine and I had this rule: if either of us don't text back within 15 minutes, we must go over to the other's house. Blaine didn't have problems, but ever since that night when I was found unconscious, he vowed never to leave me alone for too long ever again.

Goodbye, Blaine. I love you.

I texted him one last time, then walked to my room. The noose hung from my ceiling, patiently waiting. I stared at it for a few moments, then opened my iPhone and played the song that relaxed me the most: the Lavender Town theme song. Yeah, I was secretly a Pokemon nerd. Well, it was no secret. No one bothered to ask. I placed the phone on my nightstand, then almost think about backing out of this, but I realized that I've already done too much, and that I can't suddenly back out. I needed to be happy. I deserved it. I got up onto the stool. I slowly put my head into the noose, took a deep breath, and kicked the stool from underneath my feet.

I didn't cry. Yeah, it hurt, but I couldn't bring myself to cry. I was so emotionally numb, that I couldn't feel it. I could feel it physically, of course, but not emotionally, if that made sense. It almost felt like I was drowning, and if I swam up just a little more, I could grab the hand that was reaching for me, the one that wanted to save me. But I didn't. I didn't swim to the waiting hand. I didn't swing my body to the nightstand and grab the awaiting knife that could save me. The knife was the waiting hand, the life saver, and I didn't grab it. Why? Because I had absolutely no reason to. Sure, I had Blaine, but I was helping him by taking all my bullshit off his back, and out of his life. That's what I thought I was doing, anyways.

My eyelids were closed, and I knew I was seconds away from my death. I was ready, though. I was ready to rid my self of that world, and to be happy. I wasn't sure what life after death was like, but I knew it had to be better than my life on Earth.

I didn't believe in Heaven or Hell. I always imagined that when people die, they go to their own personal paradise. I knew that I was ready to die. I was ready to be happy. I was ready for my paradise.

As life slipped from my grasp, the last thing I heard other than the music, was Blaine.

"Santana!"

So this was just a test sort of chapter to see if anyone would read it. If I get enough reviews, I may continue it! Tell me what you think, and if you'd like me to continue it?!