Hola! Sorry to keep you waiting! This Chapter was very hard to hard to write..

I've noticed that I haven't put a disclaimer..soo I guarantee that I AM going to forget later, so for now, this applies to EVERY CHAPTER! (PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE.!..)

Disclaimer: I don't own glee or anything you recognize, except for Darren Criss, jkayy, I wish I did... I only own... a puppy! Anywho, Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy

Warning: Self-Harm, and depressing stuff (in thought) if this triggers you in ANY way, please don't read.,oh! and some language..

On that note.. Enjoy..?

I visibly tensed and everyone else looked between James and me curiously.

"Hello J-James" I cursed inwardly at my stutter.

Suddenly the entire room exploded with shouts coming from Blaine, Kurt, and Nick when they realized who this guy was.

Santana and the other girls just stood there wondering what the hell was going on.

I heard bits and pieces of the yelling.

"What are you-!"

and

"Get away-!"

and

"How could you-!

were flying through the air, then suddenly.

"AYE! What the fuck is going on here!" Santana shouted louder than everyone else.

Everyone quieted down, wondering how to explain this without revealing any of my secrets. So, I spoke up.

"Oh you know, your average day homophobe that tried to murder me four months ago." I said sarcastically looking at my tormentor, still having a freak out on the inside.

Santana turned from me to James, who was smirking at the group.

"Hello James" she spoke confidently "Want to tell us what you're doing here, before we call the cops?" she asked innocently.

"Don't you guys think you're being a little dramatic? I'm just coming to say hi to an old friend" he said and attempted to clap my shoulder.

"Don't. you. fucking. touch. me."

"Ooh and what is little Jeffey gonna do about it?" he asked, emphasizing with a poke to my chest after each word.

I froze. I couldn't move, or say anything back. I was terrified. James had that same fire in his eyes, the day he pulled out the knife, and I couldn't do anything except release a little whimper.

"Oh Hell. No." Santana said pushing James away from me.

"First of all, you don't mess with him. That's my job now. Second, homophobe, huh? I'm a lesbian, got something to say, well say it to me. And I should probably tell you that if you were to make that idiotic choice, I will ends you. I will cut off your dick, that is assuming if you have one, and feed it to you. If that doesn't make you wipe that silly little smirk off your dumbass face, then maybe I will get my whole group up in here, 'cause I can take on a little pussy like you 'cause I am from Lima Heights Adjacent. You know where that is asshat? It's on the wrong side of the tracks. So leave now, unless the culture you were brought up in encourages feasts of one's junk."

With that he winked at me, whispering, "This isn't over" before looking back to Santana and fleeing the scene. I could've sworn I saw something that looked like fear in his eyes.

"Holy shit, that was awesome" Nick whispered in my ear. I just nodded, not trusting my words.

"I think I'll take Jeff back to Dalton" Nick said before muttering a 'thank you' to Santana, and 'goodbye's to everyone else, me just nodding to them in agreement.

I walked back to my room after declining the offer to go down to dinner with the rest of the guys. Why did I just freeze like that at the mall? Why couldn't I stand up for myself? Fight back? How could some chick I just met that day make James scared of her? God, I'm so weak. I probably deserved being terrified to death at that warehouse. Or at home. God, if I wasn't such a wimp, maybe people would stop picking on me. Why can't I just be strong, like Nick, or Blaine, or Kurt, or God, even Santana? If I could stand up for myself, I would never have these questions running through my head.

I hate it. I hate being weak. I hate my life. I hate James. I hate my life. I hate all the bullies. I hate my life. I hate my dad. I hate being gay. I hate being me. I wish I was straight. Wait, no because then I wouldn't have Nick. So, It's not being gay that I hate, it's just me. I hate myself.

God, my world is filled with hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. I am so sick of it. I can't even like myself, so I hate me. And then, everyone in this world hates me too. For what, loving someone? It's not like me loving a guy is going to kill someone, so why does everyone hate me for being different? Everyone's different. If we were all the same, nothing in the world would be the same. Nothing would work right. It'd be boring.

I'm so sick of it. I shake my head before wondering how long I've been standing in the bathroom attached to my dorm. I'm just going to take a hot shower and go to bed. Yeah, that sounds good.

I jump in the shower and immediately make the water scalding. I can still feel James' fingers on my chest. I scrub off the essence of bad memories of gay bashing from my skin.

Then, I see a glimmer of something in the corner of my eye. The razor. I haven't used this in a couple weeks. I haven't had to. But now, there's that strange sensation on my wrists, the itching feeling, and now I need it.

No, I deserve it.

Scratch.

For being weak.

Cut.

For letting someone stick up for me.

Stab.

For being scared.

Slice.

For being a wimp.

Slit.

For being a bad friend, and a horrible boyfriend.

Tear.

Nick doesn't deserve me, no one does.

Rip.

For crying now.

Shred.

I'm still crying.

Slash.

Now, I can't stop.

Scratch. Cut. Stab. Slice. Slit. Tear. Rip. Shred. Slash.

Slash.

Slash.

Finally, I'm done. I put my arms under the water and watch as the water turns red, before pink, and then clear again down the drain.

I love the feeling. The amazing release when the cold metal touches my fragile flesh. Its invigorating.

Control.

I bandage up the wounds and put on some sweats and a cotton long-sleeve t-shirt. It's a good thing its winter. Now, I can wear long-sleeves every day without any questions. I can pretend I'm okay. It's alright, I've had a ton of practice. But now, I can feel myself shutting off. This time, I'm not going to let anyone in. I don't even want to talk now. Honestly, James scared me today. Not scared, terrified.

I can keep up the act for a little while. There's only a week until winter break. Then I can go home, relax, and get some peace and quiet. Scratch that, maybe I'd rather stay at Dalton.

Shit, why do I have to go home on break?

I totally forgot about a very pressing matter that has to do with going home for three weeks this break.

My father.

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