Rachel walks down the halls, invisible to all. She holds her arms around her stomach and her head dropped low. Regionals had come and gone, but Rachel still felt alone as ever. Finn had chosen Quinn, she had gotten heart broken. Quinn had predicted this. Of course she had. Quinn was always right, always got everything right, and Rachel was always wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. She couldn't do anything perfectly, and was always overlooked, forever overshadowed.
Finn had broken her beyond repair, he had shattered her into tiny little glass fragments, trodden on, and swept away to be forgotten. And how easy it was to be forgotten. To just blend into the background, not say a word. Nobody complains when Rachel has no input; mainly because nobody cares about her input.
Nobody cared that Rachel now had bracelets covering her wrists. She wasn't even sure if they noticed her pathetic excuses for wearing leggings in the middle of summer, to hide the cuts up her thighs. Not Finn, not Mr Shue. And Rachel preferred it that way.
She had poured her emotions into every single cut, gave some names, and carved memories into her flesh. The time her and Finn kissed in the auditorium was now immortalises in a curved line below her hipbone. The time Jesse had thrown eggs at her was marked 6 times on her upper thigh.
She had a tally of the nasty things the other glee club members say to her etched on her hips. However, the insults were going down by the day as she disappeared from everyone's lives, skulking up the back in rehearsals, never going for solos. Quinn was the only one who paid any attention to her in glee club meetings now, only to throw snide comments about Rachel's hands, or her outfit.
And Quinn was the only one who had seen Rachel's scars. The one who had ripped of her bands and beaded bracelets and gaped at the fresh and olds marks of Rachel's, otherwise flawless skin. She was the one who had backed out of the room with wide eyes, not quite comprehending what she was seeing, and the one who had thrown an insult at Rachel the next time she saw her. The one who had not even tried to get Rachel help, or even cared that she had moved on from singing to razors. She didn't care. She was to self-adsorbed to think she may have made Rachel put 4 more slices on her hips that very same night.
A sudden icy cold, yet completely familiar rush comes over her face, and pulls her out of her musings. Dripping with purple slush, she emotionlessly traipses to the nearest bathroom, where she cleans herself off. But she inwardly smirks at the thought of how these bullies were no longer in control of her life. She was. Rachel choses when she felt pain now, and when she feels nothing at all. The numbness making a bubble not even Finn could penetrate.