A/N - (trigger warning for the whole story!)

This story will be fairly dark and deep, and could trigger anyone who is in a similar situation. Please don't hate on me, this is one of the ways I cope with my own situation.

I sadly do not own New Tricks :)

Line after line...tear after tear...heartache after heartache. Was it ever going to end? No matter what she did, no one would ever reciprocate the love and care she put into all of her relationships. She was exhausted from putting her all into making others happy and not receiving anything in return.

Her vision quickly became blurry as she hastily wiped the tears from her cheeks. It was the only way that she knew that would get rid of the pain building up in her heart - even if it was only for a brief amount of time, it was better than permanently hurting. As her tears became heavier, the smile on her face grew. She glanced down at her wrist; small beads of blood danced across the ten lines she had drawn on her forearm. She did it once more and watched the blood trickle across her skin. Did she really want to continue? Without thinking, she gave in to the urges and did it once more.

She had met many people who had gone through the same thing, and had the same marks left on their skin. Although, hers were much worse. Many people had witnessed some tragic events which were imprinted on their skin forever. Hers, on the other hand, were self-inflicted out of hatred; for herself and the people around her. She had worked cases where a key individual had attempted suicide, and the ights had scarred her. They had once scared her. She could never understand the pain someone felt to try and take their own life. Now, everything was different - she understood it all. The amount of pain they had felt, the thoughts racing through their minds, and the feeling of relief they had when that one piece of metal kissed their skin. It was her addiction. But with this addiction, came pain. Lots and lots of pain. Strangely, not a physical pain, but a mental pain and exhaustion. She had grown sick and tired of wearing long sleeves. She had become tired of being strong, and sick of hiding it all from those who supposedly loved her.

She had known her work team for almost a decade and hated keeping this huge part of herself from them, but knew that they would no longer want to be around her if she did. She wanted to tell them, let out all of the pain, hurt, disappointment and anger on someone other than herself, but she couldn't hurt them. They meant the world to her, despite the fact she never told them that. She suddenly felt very vulnerable sat in her office, all alone.

As if on cue, the main door to the office opened and the footsteps of her colleague's echoed throughout the room. Her sudden onset of panic eased as she realised she had locked her office door and shut the blinds. She quickly tucked the small piece of metal into her handbag before speedily wiping the blood from her wrists and the few droplets that had fallen onto the desk in front of her. She found some spare bandages and dressings from the first aid kit she kept in the bottom drawer of her desk and wrapped herself up.

"Sandra, are you here?"

She knew that voice, it was her boss. She remained quiet, hoping that he would assume she wasn't there and would go away. Despite her now presentable appearance, she couldn't face her boss in this mindset. Luckily, she soon heard a trail of footsteps leaving the office, becoming almost silent. She put her jacket on and unlocked the door.

"Sandra?"