Title: Let it Bleed

Rating: T

Pairing: Sandle eventually.

Summery: A suicide victim makes Sara go over the top, she resolves to cutting. Who will be there to stop her from falling any lower? SaraGreg- A little sad.

Sorry I'm doing Three Stories at once O.o;;

There it was, small, black, worn out, pages ripped, and thrown in the corner of the room, turned upside down by the Las Vegas CSI. Sara Sidle wrapped her slender pale fingers around the book and picked it up; flipping through the white pages she went to the most recent entry the last entry of the journal.

Dear Diary,

I'm not even sure why I call you that diary it's not like I'm even talking to a person, if you were a person I'm sure you'd stay the hell away from me. Right? The only reason I write in this stupid thing is because my consoler says it's a good idea, to get my emotions flowing whatever the fuck that means. Better off this way then writing poetry. So I think I'll actually let my emotions flow this one time, this one entry.

I've been thinking for the past few weeks, about my life, what it means, would people care if I'm gone? The few friends I have don't even notice the cuts, the bruises on my arm. If they did they are either too scared or not worried enough to ask. If they were my real friends wouldn't you think they'd say stop? I live with my grandparents, they tell me constantly that I'm not good enough, not perfect enough; they say I have bad grades, are B's really that bad? They tell me what to wear, they tell me my friends are pigs, and the funny thing is they don't even notice that I cut myself. Would they notice if I was dead?

I'm at my moms house on the weekends and don't get my wrong because I love my mom to pieces, but she's impossible. The drugs, the cigarettes, the sex? She said she stopped but I'll catch her sometimes and I'll pretend I don't notice so she won't have to apologize. When I say drugs, I mean she seriously smokes pot, uses needles… I don't even know what's in them. This one time I came home for the weekend, and I found her asleep on the bed with a needle in her arm. I got so scared, I ran to my room and locked the door, and I stayed in there for the rest of the night. What kind of teenager has to go through this? My mom doing drugs? My grandparents telling me I'm stupid, I'll never go to college. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of this fucking life. I just wish… I just wish that it would stop.

Jeannette

Tears stained the page, making some letters hard to read. Sara felt her own warm tears stream down her face. This was her, or it could have been… When her mother had killed her father and she was in foster care, she would study like crazy just to get an A; if she got a B she would cry, lock herself in a room and stay there. She just had to go to college she just had to, she wanted to get away from her reputation as the daughter of the mother who was a killer. When her foster parents had told her "Face it, you'll never make it to college." Told her she wasn't good enough, no one would take a daughter of a murderer Sara's grades suddenly dropped drastically, A's to B's and eventually scattered C's here and there. She wouldn't talk to anyone, she was convinced she would never make it in life, she was a failure.

That's when she resolved in cutting herself. Sara remembered sitting on the cold bathroom floor, a blade in her hand, one she had ripped from razor. She held it tightly between her index and thumb; tears flowed from her eyes staining her face. She had traced cuts up and down her skin, like patterns or drawings. When she was done she watched it bleed, the blood dropped from her arm and onto the ground with a little splash.

However Sara stopped cutting herself when a friend found out, she told her "Sara your one of the smartest friends that I have, but right now you're being an idiot. When was the last time you really listening to what other people said? When have you ever believed me when I said your stupid? I'm always kidding you know that. Don't listen to your foster parents. I love you and I wont let you do this to yourself." That's when she realized that her friend was right, the cuts? The bad grades, she was destroying her life's dreams, and she had to stop.

Sara held the diary in her hand, not realizing the tears flowing freely down her face, not even noticing that she was gripping the diary so tight her knuckles turned white.

"Sara?" She dropped the diary in surprise and wiped her tears self-consciously. She turned to see Grissom standing beside her, she noticed his hand was on her shoulder but she couldn't feel it. "Sara are you okay, your face…" Sara touched her face quickly feeling it was still damp, "Have you been crying?"

"No… I" What was she suppose to say? Of course she was crying.

"Sara go home. Take a break." Grissom said his voice was lacking emotion, lacking concern. Sara stepped away from him turned towards Jeannette's body, her wrists had been slit, blood droplets on the floor, the diary… It was suicide and she knew it, she could have committed suicide when she was in high school, could have…

"Sara." Grissom said.

"Right, yeah good idea, I'll just…" but she had already walked off, out and back to the CSI lab.

Sara found herself in the CSI's women's bathroom. She really should have gone home, but she just couldn't sit there on her couch thinking about her life, that girl's life. If someone was there for her, if someone had said something or had been concerned she might still be here. Anger took over Sara's sadness quickly. How could people be so cold hearted, like they didn't care?

Catherine Willows, the social butterfly of the nightshift walked through the blue double doors of the women's bathroom, strawberry hair bouncing with every step. "Hey Sar—" Catherine started to say, but Sara ran out of the bathroom hiding her puffy eyes, tear stained face. She didn't need, or want to talk to Catherine at the moment, when Catherine would ask "What's wrong?" What would Sara say?

Sara ran into the locker room, the only empty place, she fiddled with her locker's lock, right 35 or was it 34? 34. Left 40, Right 29. She flung the locker open and stared into it at its emptiness. A few pictures lined the doors inside along with a small mirror. She stared at her pale complexion in the mirror, ran her fingers through her hair and sighed. Any case that reminded her of her own life made her sick; she held her stomach and closed her eyes. If someone even cared… A lot more people would still be here. She opened her eyes and screamed, slamming her fist into the mirror, it shattered and the glass clattered to the floor the noise echoed the room, no one came running, no one had heard. She stared at her knuckles which began to bleed, little pieces of glass sticking to her skin. She didn't care. She couldn't feel it.

Instead Sara picked up a long piece of broken mirror in her hand; she felt her old cutting scars, stared at them for a long moment before sliding the glass into her skin, Sara shut her eyes, feeling the pain was still feeling. At least she could feel that. She felt the cold glass in her, soon it quickly became warm, and she moved her arm and dropped the glass. Sara fell to the floor, and leaned against a locker holding her arm tight, tears again making their way down her face.

"Sara…" Sara's eyes widened, she suddenly noticed how much blood was on the floor, the glass, the mess she had made, not only to the locker room but to her arm, she gasped and put her head in her hands, wait who said my name? "Sara!" Greg, who had walked into the locker room to grab his stuff so he could head home, and take a nice relaxing nap, dropped his coat. He ran over to Sara's side, he fell down on his knees and pulled Sara into a hug, "What's wrong? Sara? What did you do?" He stared at the blood, the glass, her arm. "We need to get you help. Now." She really did need help.

A/N TBC, comments please, this took me a while, I was reading sad and depressing poetry when I came up with this idea >.

It's baced on the poetry and The Used song "Let it Bleed"