Hold me when it hurts.

Sometimes everything around you feels like it's closing in. Rooms are too small, voices too loud and people get too close. There are moments you wish everything would just go away and leave you alone.

Your thoughts are yours and yours alone, which is both a blessing and a curse at the same time. You choose to write them down somewhere so that you can let go of them and have them stop dominating your mind. However, every time you write one down another follows almost instantly. You know that it is impossible for the human mind not to think of something. The mind can not be empty for its always working. But that doesn't mean you don't wish it could. Every since you gave up a little piece of yourself, to one of your classmates' mother, there hasn't been a moment that your brain has stopped and allowed you to relax. Dark and depressing thoughts float around aimlessly in your skull until you can't take it anymore and write them down. Sometimes you press too hard and your pen pierces the paper with such a deafening sound that you close your hands over your ears and clamp your eyes shut just to shut it out. You do all of this in complete privacy of course. You can't have anyone know about your looming depression.

The only way to keep people away is to be a raging bitch. At first it helped a little, to direct all of your frustrations onto someone else. Make them feel miserable too just so you aren't alone. But you couldn't fool yourself for long. Because you are in fact, alone. You haven't been given a hug, or even a supportive pat on the back, in months and you wonder if anybody knows how low you have sunk since last year.

Most of your classes you spend focusing on anything but the four walls surrounding you. It has happened more than often that you wish you could just close your eyes and fold your hands over your ears and just pretend you are in some place completely different than in this stifling classroom. But you can't. You have to keep up a front and show people you are absolutely fine just so you can go home at the end of the day and be depressed there. Your mother doesn't notice. She really did try after she sent your dad away but the alcohol had too much of a grip on her and she just couldn't live without it. Her words, of course, not yours. You think that if she really loved you she would've done anything to make sure you were okay after you gave your baby away. But apparently I am supposed to deal with it myself.

That is how you find yourself today, Monday afternoon, in your bathroom looking into the bathroom mirror with a razor in a vice grip between your thumb and pointer finger. Eyes shifting constantly between the mirror and the razor. You sigh and think about what it is that you are contemplating. It's not suicide because you know you don't want to die. You know you want to do great things with your life even if it is just to prove your father wrong about you being a failure and disgrace to the Fabray family. Another sigh. All you want is just to think of something else. Be somewhere else than in your own head. You have heard the stories about people cutting themselves and that it does bring some relieve with it. So you take a deep breath and press the blade to the inside of your wrist. You briefly think about how convenient it is that you don't have to wear a Cheerio's uniform anymore because you don't think Coach would very much appreciate the scars on your wrist while performing cheerful cheers. That thought, however, is quickly replaced by sharp sting where the blade is attached to your skin and you can actually feel it cutting into you. You sigh again but longer than before and close your eyes and focus on the feeling of cutting and try to reasonably think about what you are doing. Do you like it? Do you feel better? Was it what you expected? Is this what you have been looking for? The answers are simple. Yes, yes, no and maybe. You really don't know why but as a small trickle of blood appears right next to the blade you feel as if everything is okay. And that as long as you feel pain you are at least not completely dead inside like you have been feeling for the past months. You gently remove the blade from your wrist and replace it a couple of millimeters away from the first cut and start a second. After you finished with the second one, you rinse your wrist with water from the tap and press some toilet paper against it to make it stop bleeding making a mental not to buy some gauze and bandages in case you choose to do this again. You walk into your room and pick out a long sleeved shirt before you sit down at your desk and open your schoolbooks. You try to focus on your homework but your thoughts go back to the small razor that is hidden in one of the cabinets in the bathroom. Maybe you found something that can make you feel like you can breathe again. You gently trace the fingers of your right hand over the inside of your left wrist and close your eyes at the slight burning you feel. With a small smile tugging at your lips, you uncap a pen and write down the one word floating in your mind. Relief.

A/N : So yeah this is the first chapter..This is my first fic so I apologize if its absolute crap! If you have time..please do review..I'm curious to hear what people think of this.. Thanks in advance!