"Whore."
"Slut."
"You're so easy, you let Puck knock you up—and where did that get you? Pregnant. Maybe even with the crabs."
"See that girl? She got knocked up by Puckerman, the hot football player. Lucky, but slutty."
Quinn tried to walk through the halls with dignity, keeping her head high and her lip from quivering as they spat out the insults, the judgmental glares and the whispers behind her back. Even after a few weeks having the baby the baby bump gone, already gone to its new, better home, they still came, and it made her feel terrible, more terrible than she ever had before.
She'd kept strong for nine months, just for the baby's sake. She couldn't take it anymore though, and as she sat on her bed, tears streaming down her eyes and dripping on her thighs, she held one of her dad's unused pocketknives in her hand, breathing raggedly, biting her lip so hard she could taste the metallic taste of blood starting to seep through. It was so tempting.
You could release your pain.
But that's a terrible way. You won't be able to stop. You'll be put into like a mental hospital or something…Or going to therapy.
Just put the blade to your arm and let loose, Quinn. You can do it.
She fought with herself, starting to shake as the blade got closer and closer to her arm. She took a shaky breath before she put the end of it teasingly at her light toned arm, closing her eyes for a long blink, making another tear drip down and put pressure as she let the blade slide down her arm, and a scar started to form, the blood popping up and opened like a seam not yet closed up.
She gaped at the scar, starting to shake more violently, but…but it felt good…What am I becoming of? She thought a week later as let the blade slide smoothly along the once pure skin, piercing the skin and bleeding all over again. She bit her lip, sniffling a little as she thought how terrible it was. I can't stop anymore, she thought as she pulled up her tank top and put down her sweatpants a little, where they laid on her hips, looking at the clear, unbroken skin, letting the blade be played with between her fingers as she contemplated it, the hurt and failure in her eyes.
"I can't take it anymore." Quinn said quietly to herself as she glanced to her scarred arms, quickly walking to her desk and writing a quick note before cleaning her room up and putting the note neatly on her bed.
"I'm sorry." She whispered as unsheathed a bigger knife from the pocketknife, took her last breath before plunging the knife straight into her chest and not before seeing spots of red blur her vision, crumble to the floor, the knife falling a few inches away from her hand as she lay, lifeless on her floor to be found.
Dear, friends, family, and others.
I'm sorry. I couldn't stand it anymore. It was time. I was ridiculed till the end. I'll see you all one day. Thanks to the people who stood by me throughout my hard times. It's not your fault. Please don't think it. I'm going to meet God. Don't forget about me, and I love you. I'll see you all someday. P.S., thanks Glee. You most of the people who kept me strong for this long.
Sincerely, Quinn.