Author's Note: Hey there! This is a really long and intense chapter, with a lot of swearing and somewhat graphic stuff, but it's a real turning point in the story. It leads right into the next part, which I am really excited about! Shawn's life is going to brighten up a bit, but don't worry, there will still be plenty of heart-wrenching drama along the way! I'll also be bringing a few different characters to the forefront. If you'd like to see anyone in particular, tell me in reviews! I'd really appreciate your feedback on this chapter... I hope you like it!

Enjoy!

I walked the halls of McKinley far longer than any normal person would. I wandered in all the halls and staircases, peering into the gym at a basketball game and passing by the classrooms of teachers who haven't gone home yet. I wondered why they didn't go home; whether they had extra marking to do that was best done at school or whether they, like me, just didn't want to go home.

I felt far more sorry for them than I really should have.

When I found myself in the washroom, I looked at myself in the mirror for a long time, in what felt like far too long. I hate looking at myself in the mirror, with an ever-growing passion, but when I caught my reflection in the mirror and made eye contact with myself, I swear to God I didn't recognize myself. I didn't recognize myself, at least not in the way I felt I should have. I looked older somehow, and more tired; the shadows of my eyes hung down my cheeks and my skin looked pale and bulgy.

(I felt fat as hell.)

I was almost thankful that I didn't really recognize myself when I pushed up my sleeve and looked at all the shit on there, because it made me more detached from it somehow, like it never really happened to me. I still didn't believe it. Even though the scars were still fresh and red and new and hurt, I looked at them and I swear to God I didn't understand that it was my arm and that I did that to myself and all the shit that came with it. I didn't want to.

(I didn't want to, I didn't want to, I didn't want to, I didn't want to…)

Pulling down my sleeve, I turned away from the mirror and walked out the door.

When I finally reach the doors, I stand there in front of them a really long time. I don't want to go out, walk outside and know I should be going home, and I really have no place to go other than home. It's at times like these that I wish I had friends, whose houses I could crash at for hours on end. I've heard of friendships like that, and certainly seen of them on Facebook and shit, and once upon a time I did have one like that.

I was, like, nine, though. I imagine things are different with teenager friendships.

I stand at the doors until the sentimentality and the nostalgic has to go. I open the door and walk out, the cold air hitting my face. I don't know where I'm going, but I have to try and get out.

(I have to try and get out.)

I could turn the other way, I think to myself. I could turn the other way, go take the route opposite to the one that leads to my house and God only knows where I'd end up, but at least it wouldn't be home. It wouldn't be home. How the fuck am I supposed to face my father, after the day I've had? After the shit I've done? God, I've done shit far worse and far less significant than what I've done and gotten punishments that I can't imagine being any worse. He probably won't even care, though; at least I did it to myself, not to a—

"Shawn!"

I've just gotten onto the parking lot when I hear an oh-so familiar voice from behind. A big part of me wants to keep on walking, and I almost do, until that voice speaks again and gives me no choice but to turn around.

"I have to tell Mr. Schue."

"What?" I say, turning around to face Finn, who was just getting out of a parked car. He'd obviously been waiting for me.

He walks towards me. "I'm going to tell Mr. Schuester. I have to. It was dumb of me to agree to keep it a secret in the first place."

"No," I say, shouting more than I really need to. I can feel emotions boiling up inside of me, the anger and fear and humiliation and sadness and all these awful feeling things coming to the surface, trying to escape me. All I want to do is cry, or something that rhymes with that. "It's fine, Finn. He's going to talk to my teacher and make sure they don't bug me anymore," I look at him, standing over me. He's so tall and intimidating. "It's good, alright?"

(God, I really want to hate him.)

"No, it isn't alright," Finn says, and I can feel me actually hating him becoming more plausible.

"What?" I snap.

He looks down at me. "Look, we've all been bullied and shoved against the lockers and had our fair share of slushy facials, but none of us have ever even thought of doing what you did," I look at him, and I hate myself because I'm about to cry. I'm so exhausted. "There's got to be something else going on for you to do that to yourself."

"No," I tell him, shaking my head. "I did it and it's done and I'll never do it again, okay?"

"I don't believe you," Finn says.

I bite my lip, and then I shout at him because all I want to do is say words and make them exist in a way that they could never exist in my head.

"I've been through stuff far worse than this, Finn," I pull up my sleeve, revealing my battered, bloody, gross arm, and he stares at it. The blood is hardly dry yet. I hold it up to him. "This— it's only happening to me. It's not happening to you, or Mr. Schuester or anyone else in fucking glee club. It only hurts me, and it has fucking nothing to do with any of you. The only fucking reason I did it is because I thought for fucking sure that if I only hurt myself nobody would get involved and nobody else would get hurt other than me. So why don't you just go back to Rachel and that fucking club and let me go and stop pretending that you give a shit about me because I know you fucking don't."

I'm sobbing now, my bloody arm shaking as these horrendous-sounding noises come out of my mouth. All the tears are stopping me from seeing Finn clearly, but I know he's looking at me and he's not talking. That much I know is true; he doesn't say a word for what feels like hours. And I don't walk away even though I easily could have.

"I do care about you," he tells me. "I care about you, and Mr. Schuester does, and the rest of glee club… Even Rachel, even though she's wrapped up in her own stuff right now. We care about you, and I'm not going to let you do that to yourself, okay? I just can't."

"Why?" I ask him. "Why do you give a flying fuck about me?'

He opens his mouth to speak but I interject.

"Don't you feed me some bullshit about how glee club is a family and how much we all care about each other because I know it's just crap. I realized a long time ago that there's no such thing as a selfless good deed—nobody does anything just for the sake of doing a good thing for somebody else. There's always something in it for yourself. Whatever your motivations are, I know they have nothing to do with me."

Finn sighs, putting his hands in his pockets. "You're right."

"What?"

"Because of Kurt," he says. He looks so vulnerable as he says it, like if he says the words too loud the ground beneath him will shatter. "I've failed Kurt way too many times... I let people beat him up and throw him against lockers and I did nothing about it. He's forgiven me and I've got his back now but still…"

Finn is looking at the ground, shuffling his feet with his hands in his pocket like a nervous little boy.

(I can't say anything, and I don't.)

He keeps talking; his voice cracks and I know he's tearing up. "If anything happened to Kurt, I'd never, ever forgive myself. If he ever did what you've done… I wouldn't be able to live with myself, you know? Maybe if I help you… It might make it up to Kurt somehow, for all the times I was an asshole and didn't help him."

I nod, and this time I'm quiet for a while and Finn doesn't walk away even though he easily could.

"That's a good reason," is all I can say.

Finn nods and smiles faintly, still looking at the ground with his hands shoved in his pockets. "So… you're going to let me tell Mr. Schue? We can go in together."

"No," The continuous tears begin again as I shake my head. "I can't."

"Shawn," Finn says, clearly upset and disappointed in me. I cry some more. "What did we even just—"

"I can't," I interrupt him as I look down at my arm. I look at the blood and the oozing and the scars and, "I just can't tell him."

"Why not?" Finn asks. "You need help. What's the worse that could happen?"

"My father," I say, and those words bring this surge of anger and hatred and anger into my brain and all I want to do is scream because, God, I hate those words.

(My father.)

"What?" Finn says.

"My father," I say the words again and they taste bitter as they leave my lips. I sob as I raise my arm again. "If he knew about this, if he knew what I did to myself he'd call me an attention whore and a fucking bitch and if he found out I told a teacher or anyone at all about why I did what it, I don't even know what he'd do to me but God only knows I'd be in worse shape than I am now after it!"

"Shawn," Finn starts. I can't see his face through the sobbing and the tears, but his voice sounds too worried and I don't realize what I said and when I do I just know I've fucked everything up.

(Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.)

"You can't go home," Finn tells me, but then he repeats the words like he's realized something. "You can't go home... You can't go home because of your father."

I'm sobbing so hard I can't breathe, the tears coming from my eyes so quickly that I'm confused and the world seems to spin around me and I can't find Finn between all the water and I'm gasping for air and, fuck, I can't breathe.

I wipe my eyes with my bloody arm and it stings as I take a deep breath and hold it up to him again. "He won't give a fuck about if I did it to myself, but if I told anyone… that's why I can't tell anyone, okay? I'm safer if I just go home and we never, ever tell anyone about it. If he found out I told anyone he'd fucking kill me, okay?"

I'm sobbing and Finn's looking at me, and he looks so lost and he doesn't know what to do and I don't know what to do and I know I've fucked everything up and I don't know what to do and my knees are shaking and my arm is still hanging in the cold air and I can feel the blood and I can't fucking deal with anything.

(I cannot fucking deal with anything. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing.)

"He'd fucking kill me," the words slip from my mouth, and I can't believe I said them but I did and it's a sweet release of those words and I thought it'd feel better but it's a sweet release in the worst kind of way.

I was so caught up in the tears and the cold and the thoughts and the words my hanging arm and Finn standing over me and I guess he was, too, because neither of us heard the front doors to the school open and the feet against the pavement running towards us and the words that came out of that man's mouth.

"Shawn," the voice says. "Shawn, Finn— what happened?"