Rachel silently cried as she scribbled the last few words of her suicide note. This was the hardest part; writing down a personalized message to people who probably wouldn't even care if she died. But she needed to give them a reason, whether they wanted one or not.
Walking into the Glee club, she carefully folded up the letter and addressed it to her "fellow students" before placing it on the piano.
Rachel never wanted it to be this way. She just wanted to get through high school and move to New York with Finn. They were supposed to get married at a beautiful church where she'd wear the most intricate white dress and he'd stand at the end of the aisle, tears welling at the sight of his soon-to-be bride. They were supposed to have two kids, one son and one daughter, who would be named Andrew and Caroline and would be extremely talented, both carrying their parents singing into the next generation. Rachel was supposed to be in Broadway until she couldn't sing or dance anymore. She was supposed to have a long, happy life.
I guess things never really go as planned.
As she walks around the room, she can't help but let her slender fingers glide across the keys. True, she'd miss this. But what was the point of expressing your passion to a group of people who didn't appreciate it? She slowly lowered herself onto the black bench and positioned her hands to play the most appropriate song for the particular situation. After all, this would be the last song she ever sang. Why not make it memorable? She gently started to press the keys down, creating a beautiful melody.
I feel…so alone
I feel…so cold
I want to fly
Take off to the sky
It's so cold…it's so cold
It's so….cold
There was a chill
There was a sound
There was a whisper…of that I found
It went along searching
It will return while I stay
I feel…so alone
I feel…so cold
She sat up. She needed to do it now. She couldn't take the pain anymore. She was done.
Rachel ran out of the choir room, running as fast as she possibly could as tears ran down her face. When she reached her car, she impatiently ripped open the door and practically fell in the front seat. She didn't bother to put on her seatbelt, she just slammed on the gas pedal and drove, for what seemed like forever, until she found herself in front of her house.
When she reached the bathroom door she pulled on the door, almost hard enough to rip it right off its hinges. Her dads were gone on some vacation. Thank God.
She pulled open a drawer and rummaged through it until she found the box. She opened it and picked up the sharpest razor she could find.
Jackpot.
Pulling off her hoodie and throwing it on the ground below her, she took a deep breath and pressed the sharp metal to her wrist, right where the major veins were. Red blood immediately oozed out of the deep cut but Rachel felt no pain.
She was numb. She hated it.
She retracted the razor and made an identical cut on the other wrist, causing blood to get all over the floor and her white V-neck shirt. Rachel didn't care. She just wanted pain. Was that such a bad thing to ask for? Just pain. Just a distraction. Was that too much?
She felt her vision get blurry around the edges but she continued to tear up the skin along her arms, from her wrists all the way to her shoulders. Minutes, hours, or even days went on before she let out a hysterical sob and dropped the razor, causing it to make a clink sound on the tile floor before she collapsed.
Rachel curled into a ball and sobbed hysterically as blood pooled around her. She closed her eyes.
And waited for death to take her.
….
Puck groaned. He'd left his sweatshirt in the choir room and did not feel like going back to get it. But he had too, it wasn't his after all. It was Mike's.
He hummed some verses of 'Sweet Caroline' as he walked down the high school corridors and couldn't help but think of Rachel. He frowned.
Puck had seriously treated her like shit along with every other Glee club member and he felt bad about it. Because Rachel really was a fragile person, her fake confidence just covered it up all of the time. He made a vow to find out what the hell was wrong with her tomorrow. He had to find out.
Flickering on the light to the deserted choir room, he shuffled in and immediately found the blue sweatshirt. As he threw it over his head, a note on the piano caught his eye. It wasn't here earlier.
Curiosity killed the cat, he thought before glancing at the note. It was addressed to 'Fellow Students' and it was in Rachel's handwriting. He frowned. This can't be good.
Dear Glee clubbers,
First of all, I want to let you all know how sorry I am. I'm sorry for being such a sore loser and a bad sport. I'm sorry for being so annoying and bringing all of your reputations down, because face it; I am the one and only Lima Loser. I'm sorry for everything.
To Finn: I'm sorry I couldn't be the perfect girlfriend. I tried, trust me. You were the first guy I've ever really been with and I didn't want to screw it up. But I did. And I'm sorry. I loved you.
To Quinn and Santana: I'm sorry that I was always in the way of you guys. You're both beautiful and talented, two things I'll never be.
To Mercedes and Tina: I'm sorry for being so greedy and taking away all of the solos. You guys really deserve them and you need to promise you'll fight for them. You're really good.
To Kurt: I'm sorry I embarrassed you with my horrid fashion. You're an amazing person, Kurt. You and Blaine are adorable together. Ignore Karofsky, because you'll be big someday Hummel.
To Artie and Mike: You two were always so sweet. I'm sorry for ever being annoying to you. I guess that's just the way I am. Mike, keep dancing and Artie, never give up.
To Sam and Lauren: I'm sorry I didn't get to know you two that well, but from what I do happen to know, you'll go far in life unlike me.
To Brittany: I'm sorry for all of the remarks and comments you get for participating in Glee club with me. You're so smart, Britt. Don't you dare let anybody tell you any different.
To Noah: Thank you. Yesterday, in the auditorium, I actually felt like somebody wanted to be near me. You don't know how much it meant. I'm sorry for ever leading you on.
To Mr. Schuester: You ran the one thing that made me feel like I was worth something. When I sang, everything washed away. All the sorrow. All the hurt. But it was only temporary. I'm sorry for being such a poor sport.
By the time you all read this letter, I'll be gone. Dead. Nothing. I don't expect you to care. It's okay if you don't. Just know that it's none of your faults. It's mine.
I'm sorry for ever ruining any of your lives. I hope you can find it in you to forgive me.
Because I know damn well I can't forgive myself.
Much love-
Rachel Barbara Berry
Puck's eyes widen when he notices something wet splash on the crinkled piece of paper. He reaches up and touches his cheek. He notices that he's crying. Hysterically.
This can't be happening. She can't be dead. No, no, no, no, no.
Puck threw the letter down and ran as fast as he could He needed to get to her house before it was too late. Rachel Berry could NOT die.
He needed her to be alive. Wait, scratch that.
He needed her.
