Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, I do however own this story, I'm just borrowing the characters.

A/N: Thank you all for the great responses to the first chapter. I've been sitting on that for a month debating whether or not to post it up, I'm glad that I have done so! Your reviews mean the world to me, so thank you for taking the time. Now I've just got to deal with the pressure of maintaining the darkness of this ff.

Sincerely C x

"Let go" I whispered, the words felt familiar on my tongue, I had said them to her so many times in the past. Every time she refused I got a little kick of satisfaction, and then a nagging sensation of annoyance that she never heeded my hidden warning.

I knew that she knew what I was really saying. Let go of me is what I was really saying, but the ferocity that she is looking at me with right now, along with the tightening of her hand around mine - I could almost believe that she wanted me too.

She is tilting her head at me now, analysing me, trying to figure out what emotional state I'm in.

I look away because I hate it when she tries to read me, as if all the thoughts that I'm having are laid out bare, stripped down and waiting for her to just look at me and see it all. I look away because I don't want her to save me anymore.

I disentangle our fingers, but she tries to fight me. She clings on to every last digit, hoping that this time will be different than the last time. But it isn't. It never changes.

I pull away from her, enjoying this twisted mental torture. I crave her, but at the same time I'm rough with her, callous even. I hold her emotions in such little regard and every time she hurts or is disappointed it makes me feel better, then I berate myself for not functioning in an ordinary way, for not caring enough.

Instead I feed the darker side of me, to the point of it being gluttonous.

I swing my legs over the bench with ease; it's all part of the routine. I don't even have to turn back around to know that she has begun crying again. I smile a little with satisfaction, but then it falters and slides off of my face completely. I want to be normal for her, but how can I fight myself? I am who I am.

I hear footsteps behind me and I know she has begun to follow; I pick up the pace as does she. It's all so well rehearsed.

I begin a sprint and soon the accompanying sound fades. I owe her more than this, she deserves more than this.

I keep pushing her away, hoping that one day she will walk. But if she does walk, it will be the end of me and the last shred of sanity that I have left.

I hadn't always been like this. But certain things in life press down on you, squeezing the air from your lungs until you feel like your suffocating beneath the weight. I am always gasping for breath – and that's why I need Santana; in my darkest moments she gives me back air so I can rest for a little while and regain some composure.

That's why we were out here tonight. I had called her again.

I had had a breakdown again, I had looked into the mirror and not recognised my own face, my body felt like a shell that I was trapped in and it was surreal. I had held my hand up in front of my own eyes, tilting it and twisting it, examining every single line that graced my palm. It was all new, it wasn't real.

So I rang her hysterically talking about fake hands down the phone, in between garbled hysteria and uncontrollable sobs I managed to say the word park. Santana knew the routine well, the word park stood for a meeting within ten minutes of the phone call on the same picnic bench. She tried to get me to breathe, but each attempt caught in my throat, causing dry irritated coughs to breakout.

On my way walking to the park I watched my shadow become longer and darker, constantly at my heels with every move I made. My shadow reminded me of Santana and that thought alone irritated me.

She deserved more than that, but she never realised it. Everyone thought I was too good for her, and she had been told it so many times that she had started to believe it, despite the numerous occasions I told her it wasn't true; I was the lucky one to have her in my life. But she would always shake her head, finding comfort in staring at her feet as opposed to me.

I needed her in my life, but she didn't need me. All I ever brought to her was misery.

We talked about my shadow, about how I felt the light getting smaller, confined even and the darkness was growing, building, swallowing me whole.

That was when she began crying.

Now in her time of need I have left, what kind of person am I?

I want to go back, I order my feet to take me back to her and they start to. But then I change direction. It's like I have no control anymore over my own body. I'm pacing back and forth, wondering what to do.

Soft fingers belonging to a good soul stop me abruptly, the firm grip of her hands are holding my shoulders, stilling me and my conflict. She decided for me. She took that issue away.

"Britt, please, just tell me how to fix you." She was pleading with me again. She had begged so many times.

I shake my head unable to form coherent words. Moments like these are the worst for me, I'm so lost in my own mind that I can never reply back honestly.

"You can't fix me, because I'm not me." She looked uncomprehendingly. I knew if she gave me that look, that I was going to be lost the rest of the night.

"I'm scared San." Now this she could respond to better, but I didn't want her to.

As I physically drew her closer to me, mentally I pushed her further away, cementing the chaos firmly within the walls of my mind. I didn't want her to become corrupted too.

It was enough that I was a fuck up without her becoming that way inclined as well.

"You can talk to me" she whispers. "I'm always here for you Britt Britt." Her arms engulf me and I feel the warmth from her body heat my skin. Her words are like sandpaper, rubbing me raw, I feel sick.

"Don't be." I whisper back.

I feel her shift against me.

"Don't be here for me." As I say this I hold on even tighter, willing her to see beyond the contradiction. I'm wanting her to do something that I'm not capable of.

"I will always be with you forever" she speaks the words so softly. But to me it hurts and I change so quickly.

"Don't make promises that we both know you can't keep Santana." It's like acid in my mouth, vile and burning. I finally let go.

When I'm like this it makes her worry more. It makes her panic harder than she would if I was openly aggressive.

I know that she will call later, just to see and I won't answer because I want her to worry.

I want her to come over, snaking her way through the night and into my bed. But right now, I'm staring at her and she is staring back at me, she reaches out once more, but I'm already gone.

I'm already so far gone.