Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, I do however own this story, I'm just borrowing the characters.
A/N: Thank you all for your reviews - you managed to break my record of 7 reviews per chapter so you made this lil ol' heart of mine jump for joy. Right here's a warning - self harm and suicide are raised in this chapter but it's nothing gruesome. I had a really hard time writing this as it is emotionally exhausting to be so depressive all the time. The way I see it is - you have to hit rock bottom before you can start climbing back up again.
Also this * - means that there is a definition waiting at the bottom of the page for you.
Please review :)
Sincerely C x
I'm in the safety of my room and the silence of it seems dangerous to me. I'm rocking back and forth, trying to comfort myself, tell myself that what had just happened didn't really happen. I bite my nails but it brings no relief, no sense of reassurance - so I begin to chew on my bottom lip until I bleed. The taste of salt in my mouth isn't pleasant and it does nothing but agitate me further.
I don't know how long I have been here for, repeating these same motions over and over again. But the sun has set now, and night has fallen. I haven't eaten I realise, but the fear that I have deep within my gut is suppressing the desire for food.
I get up and move across the room. I'm sitting on my window ledge now my leg tucked beneath me as I sit and watch the moon appear, its usual luminosity gives way to a dull blue colour embedded into the blackest of skies.
The puddles of water reflect the light back; the clear pools cast soft beams around in this dark night. Agitated, I get up and pace my room, finally settling back onto my bed.
My phone keeps buzzing in the corner and I know that it's Santana. I don't even have to speak to her to know that she will litter the conversation with apologies and regret. Her accidentally slapping me is the least of my worries.
I let my gaze fall all around the room, hoping for a distraction, hoping for something to take my mind away from just – everything. My eyes rest upon the blunt tip of my compass and a thought, however fleeting passes through my mind.
I don't want to be here anymore, I don't want to be in this perpetual state of anger and fear and suppression. But no matter how much I don't want to be here, I can't see another way out other than... I can't see myself carrying on like this. The idea of – death I suppose – becomes malignant now, consuming my thoughts.
I unfold my legs and cross the room to the compass. It may be blunt, but to me it could be a starting point and then a real attempt at ending all this pain would be soon.
With numb, trembling fingers I reach for it, the anticipation of what I'm about to do is leaving my limbs exceptionally weak, especially after the adrenaline rush of earlier. I feel light headed, dizzy almost with the relief of knowing what I will do tomorrow.
Tomorrow, I will kill myself. Tomorrow I will find peace.
My index finger brushes the metal lightly, and then with determination I grasp it tightly.
My door swings open and there stands the silhouette of Santana. As she steps quickly into the room I can see her face is glistening with tears.
"You should knock before you enter" I say with a calm and collected voice. It's a contrast to the way I feel inside.
She is taking in the scene before her, the compass point mere millimetres above the skin of my wrist. She moves into the stream of moonlight, the beams catching the wisps and waves of her hair. She looks so beautiful, but so broken and I feel a slight pull inside my chest.
"What are you doing?" Her voice is soft and warm and it falls over me like a gentle rain.
"About to do some math homework." I settle the compass back onto the side; she shouldn't be here to witness my downfall. I would much rather break completely in private.
"Don't lie to me Britt. Just please-" she begs, her eyes scrunch up closed, as if I'm physically hurting her, "please don't. Stop telling me what I want to hear. Tell me what's going on."
I bite back the words I want to say and instead turn away from her. I find no solace in any part of the room. I find desolation and destruction wherever I look. Memories and tokens of affection sit idly on shelves, gathering dust and serve as yet another reminder of a past life. A life that I barely recognise.
She steps forward, taking my face in her hands and forcing me to look at her.
"What have I done to you?" She whispers, tilting my head so that she can see my bruising better. She strokes my cheek with the pad of her thumb. She is so soft and warm, her movements are gentle as if she were touching a spider's web and fearful that she will break it; she pulls back minutely.
I feel her hesitance in her touch; she closes her eyes again so tightly as if afraid to see. Without a moment to think what she might do she leans in and kisses where she struck me.
I flinch away from the contact, it's just too much too soon and rather than being reassuring, the act sends cold shivers up and down my spine. I go swiftly to the other side of the bed, hunching over and in on myself.
"You haven't done anything San. I'm just beyond all of this. I warned you. I warned you so many times but you didn't listen. You shouldn't have come here tonight. You- you shouldn't come here anymore." I feel weak saying this to her, my voice lacks conviction.
She doesn't move. The tension is thick, almost smothering.
"Britt I slapped you – how can you say I haven't done anything to you?" She looks so upset and so delicate right now. The silver light makes her look serene and peaceful; it's a rare sight to behold. My ethereal beauty.
I need to protect her.
"San, I'm fine honestly I was just a little shocked that's all. So what did you and Quinn say about me?"
She looks a little embarrassed now.
"I know you probably heard Britt, so stop trying to change the subject. Plus I - I think Quinn likes you, she wanted to come here with me; but I told her that she couldn't. I told her that it should be just me and you."
She sits down opposite me and leans a little closer. She is trying to see through the darkness and into my eyes; she wants to be able to read me. I make sure that my face is a blank canvas, impenetrable to her observations; I don't want her to suffer too.
"I wanted to talk to you alone about... well all the things you aren't telling me. I know you're scared Britt, I know you aren't happy. I know that all these things that I have done, the cheating and arguing and now the hitting – I am the one who ruined you." She fiddles with her fingers for a moment, uncertain about herself. No-one ever gets to see this side.
"I want to piece you back together Britt. I'll be anything that you need me to be. Above everything else I am first and foremost your friend." She stretches out her hand and her fingertips hover above my knee, I can feel the warmth emanate from her skin. The sensation feels foreign but familiar and I look down from her face to her hand and then back again.
I don't know what to make of it.
"San, I really don't feel like talking tonight. But-" I see Santana bite her lip and it makes me nervous. "-I was wondering if you would just stay with me for awhile?" I speak in hushed tones, afraid that talking too loudly will shatter this illusion and that she will go back to being hard and callous. Or worse, that I'll become defiant and make her leave.
She lies down on the bed and I follow quickly. We both stare up at the stars stuck to my bedroom ceiling, and when I look out of the corner of my eye I swear I could see her smiling just a little. I roll over and see the metal tip of the compass glinting in the light and it almost looks inviting.
"Isn't it ironic that stars are at their brightest and most beautiful after they have burnt themselves out into oblivion?" I muse. I don't know if she heard me. I said it simply for a distraction.
I lie awake for awhile but she has drifted off to sleep, I don't want to wake her. Then I hear the gentle breaths puffed out from between her rouged lips, plump and warming to see. I feel slightly flushed so I push the covers off and wrap them more securely around Santana, to me she looked so cold.
I look at her unabashedly now, once I am certain she is asleep. Her breaths are deep and even, her eyelashes dark and long and a look of pure serenity is evident in her features. I feel torn between running and pulling her close, she is my own personal Azrael*. I reach out and trace the outline of her lips; my fingertips are barely a whisper away from touching her. This is the only way I can express a desire of any sort, without making contact and without anyone else aware other than myself.
Finally I let sleep consume me and for once it is a dreamless and easy slumber.
I wake up the next morning and immediately I find her arms are wound tightly around my waist and her hands are tracing familiar patterns and routes along my spine. I feel the panic rise up and pound in my chest, this moment is too intimate, too close for me to stand it. I finally know what it feels like to feel fire, licking at my skin from her caresses and I hate myself for liking this torture. She is burning me, making me yearn for something that my mind and body aren't ready to consume and it hurts. If I could describe it it's like a dull ache, low and throbbing and flaring up right down to my toes.
I back away quickly just beyond her reach and I panic when I see her hands fumbling for me amongst the sheets. I try to tiptoe away silently but my foot catches on something making a loud clunking noise and rousing Santana completely from her sleep.
"Where are you going?" She mumbles, still dazed with tiredness.
"Well, I've got to explain to my mom why you're here and then I'm going to get breakfast. Do you want anything?" She turns to face me completely, her hair mussed and her eyes still a little unfocussed.
"Your mom walked in this morning and saw me, so don't worry I explained everything ok?" I don't know how to feel about Santana talking to my mom, especially after her thinly veiled displeasure with Santana and evidently blaming her for the new me. Regardless, I nod my head and let a small smile etch upon my lips.
"Good. I'll have an orange juice please." With that I go downstairs, wondering why I can't hear the familiar clink of pots and pans or the quiet sound of my dad's newspaper rustling with the turn of every page.
Instead I'm met with the image of Steph standing in her pyjamas looking sorry for herself.
"So..." she says whilst rubbing her forehead. "I hear Santana stayed here overnight so does that mean you two are back together?" I go to answer but then her face twists in confusion. "Bri, why do you have a bruise?" I remember all of a sudden the current condition of my face.
"It, er, it was all by accident."
"Who did it to you?" I shift from foot to the other nervously as Steph suddenly looks more alert.
"It doesn't matter." I say, but she has stepped closer.
"Tell me who."
"Santana." Before I had even finished the name, Steph was hurtling up the stairs. The next thing I hear is my bedroom door crashing open from upstairs. I felt cold, the little warmth I had inside earlier had gone.
*Archangel Azrael means "Whom God helps," he separates the soul from the body and provides comfort to those on the verge of death.