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Thank you to those who reviewed, and I'll point out now that the poems at the end of each chapter are written by me.

Chapter 3

Addictions were such alarming things; something Puck had learned the hard way. His old man had been too fond of the drink. He wasn't a violent drunk; he'd never strike a woman or his children. Apart from the one time Puck had accidentally set fire to the living-room rug, he'd got one hell of a smack for that stunt. Still, the man's love for alcohol had played a key part in why he left them. On the night he left, Puck remembered overhearing him talk with his mother. He had promised her that he was going away for a while to sober up and get himself sorted. Then he'd walked out the door and never returned.

From what Puck could remember, his father hadn't been the best dad in the world. He was lazy or tired much of the time and drunk the rest. At the time, he had seemed like such an awful dad to have and when he left Puck frequently referred to him as a deadbeat loser and other unflattering titles. However, when he looked at the man who shared his mother's bed now, Puck realised how ungrateful he had been. A lazy drunk or not, he'd give anything to have his real dad back in place of the monstrous Math teacher who was ruining his life.

Sex, that was another addiction. One Puck had fell into and was only able to pull himself out of when met with an unplanned teenage pregnancy. Santana and Brittany were also sex addicts. He was sure the two girls were always safe with any sexual partner they had, but still, their constant need for cock or pussy had to be unhealthy.

Other people were addicted to drugs, cigarettes, addicted to seeing other people's fear like Coach Sylvester or in Rachel Berry's case addicted to the spotlight.

As for Puck, he had a new addiction, an addiction to bleed. Underneath the long-sleeve t-shirts he now always wore, his arms were littered with lacerations. Some cuts were small and shallow, others were long and deep but all held the promise of a scar.

For a week, he'd only made one small incision a day on his left arm. By the second week, his cutting sessions had progressed to multiple cuts. It was during the third week when he offered his right arm the same treatment.

Every time he made a fresh cut, he would watch with morbid fascination as the blood journeyed down his arm. Soon enough, all he could think about was adding another mark to his tanned skin.

He'd even skip lessons and lunch breaks so he could hide away in a toilet stall and mutilate himself. He had even skipped Glee club the day they were supposed to perform songs of apology or forgiveness. Puck had intended to go, to sing his song to Finn, apologise and hope the other could grant him his forgiveness. But on the way to the choir room, he had seen Finn holding hands with Rachel and his desire to sing faded in place of the need to bleed.

After experiencing the initial but brief burning sting sensation the blade provided, Puck basked in the unexplainable momentary relief he felt. Of course, when the feeling passed, the overpowering emotion of guilt soon took its place. It happened every single time. He'd feel good as he made the cut, then when it was over he felt guilty and weak. He always promised himself that it would be the last time, but the last time was always followed by another.

The chance to sing a song of apology to Finn had passed him by. It was another lost opportunity to make things right with his former friend. During the next Glee rehearsal, Mr. Schue had cast him a look of disappointment while the others either shot him looks of disgust or just plain ignored him.

It was a month later when he and Finn were forced to work together on a Glee assignment. Mr. Schue's chosen theme was that of friendship. As soon as Puck heard what the task was going to be, he wanted to leave the room. But he stayed where he was and waited for his name to be pulled out of that dreaded Hat of Fate. He knew even before Finn walked up to the piano that the Frankenteen would withdraw his name from the hat.

He was prepared to hear his name fall from Finn's lips, prepared for Finn to groan in protest and ask to change partners, prepared to receive such a look of revulsion. But what Puck wasn't prepared for was how deeply it would hurt when Finn looked at him so coldly and spoke such harsh words.

After everyone else had selected their partners, they all moved to different spaces in the room so they could begin work right away. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Puck trudged over to where Finn was sitting with a very sour expression upon his face.

"Any idea what song you wanna sing, bro?" Puck asked sitting down beside him and trying to act cool even as his heart was hammering intensely against his chest.

"I'm not your bro." Finn retorted grumpily. "And I don't wanna sing anything with you."

"We don't have a choice." Puck pointed out. "Look, I'm…" He wanted to make a heartfelt apology there and then. He should have done in fact. But as usual, his stupid mouth rebelled against the commands of his brain and forced him to say something stupid instead. "I'm no happier about this pairing than you are but I'm not acting like a pussy over it. Let's just pick a song and get it over and done with."

"I'll text you a song choice later." Finn told him with a glare. "We can just wing it when we perform next week."

With that, Finn grabbed his stuff and stormed out the door in a fashion that would make even Rachel proud. Rolling his eyes, Puck swung his rucksack onto his back and followed after Finn.

"Hey, Hudson!" He called down the corridor. "Could you stop being such a girl for like five seconds?"

"Go to hell." Finn replied over his shoulder.

"Fine, just walk away." Puck said. "Maybe I'll go see if Rachel wants to know how it feels to be with a real man."

That comment rooted Finn to the spot and his shoulders tensed up before he dropped his bag then lashed his body round and stalked angrily towards Puck. Seizing him roughly by the shoulders, Finn slammed Puck against the nearby lockers. After letting out a small wince, Puck shoved Finn in the chest.

The taller teen stumbled slightly before smashing his fist into the side of Puck's face then pinning his wrists against the lockers either side of his head. This time, Puck sucked in a breath as pain shot up his arms from the pressure Finn was unknowingly applying to some of his more recent cuts that were hidden beneath the sleeves of his light grey hoodie.

"Now you're acting like a man." Puck smirked even as he felt a prickle of fear and… something else he wasn't willing to name shoot up his spine. "Well, don't stop now, Hudson. Hit me."

That aggressive sneer that looked so out of character on Finn's face slowly fell away. His eyes lost that enraged fire and sizzled down to merely a flickering but unthreatening ember. His mouth formed into a thin line and his grip on Puck's arms loosened before he took a fraction of a step back.

"You're not worth it." Finn told him simply before stepping away completely and walking off.

With a rapidly growing ache in his chest, Puck watched Finn leave, those four words echoing relentlessly in his ears. For a long while, he simply stayed where he was leaning against the lockers, his neck twisted so that he was looking in the direction that Finn had left by. He only moved again when he heard the rest of the Glee club making their way out of the choir room.

Ignoring the quizzical looks he received from Tina, Kurt and Mr. Schue, Puck headed out to his truck. He didn't drive straight home. He simply sat in his vehicle and watched as everyone else drove off until his was the only car in the parking lot.

He massaged his temples as if to tempt away Finn's parting words that were still replaying themselves in his brain. When it didn't work, he reached into his bag and pulled out the pocketknife. Rolling the sleeve of his left arm back, he poised the tool over his flesh before getting to work. Once he was done, he placed the pocketknife away and took time to admire his craftsmanship. Into his skin, he had carved the name 'FINN'.

It was fitting in a way, that he would use the pocketknife, his new best friend, to carve the name of his old one.

I've been cutting again,
My new sharp metal friend,
A scratch here and there,
Blood running everywhere,
A small sense of relief,
Before the return of grief,
The tears threaten to fall,
I feel weak and small,
I am hurting myself,
And I desperately need help,
So much going through my head,
Inside I feel dead,
I put the blade to my arm,
Causing myself harm,
The burning pain I feel,
Reminds me I am real,
But the problem still remains,
And I still feel the strain,
So I cut myself again,
With my sharp metal friend.

To Be Continued

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