Holy shit it's been a while. I'm so so sorry that I haven't updated in months. But I should be having more time to update because summer is almost here! I hope you guys don't hate me and still read and review because I still love you guys. Thanks for sticking with me and this story. I'll try to update my others soon! Let me know what you think. Until later, Xx

Puck's POV:

"I love you, Puck."

That's what I expected to hear. That's what I wanted to hear. But that's not what she said.

So I left. Why would I stay? There was no reason for me to anymore. The last words she said to me replay in my head.

"I don't love you, Puck."

I can still picture her red eyes staring into mine, her tearstained cheeks, and the way she bit her lip right after she said it. Her voice spoke one thing, but her body spoke another. But yet again, she didn't choose me. I didn't let her say anything more, she already made her choice. I heard her choke out the word "don't" and that's when I tore away from her, when I let her go. She tried calling after me. She didn't want me to leave, she thought we could make it work. I've "made it work" my whole life, and look where that got me. I walked away, and spent the rest of the night walking around New York City.

I never really liked it here anyway.

So I left. I snuck by way back into my waste-of-money apartment. I grabbed what I could, and I was the next flight out of the city where dreams are made of. I didn't care where I went; I just knew I wanted to begin again.

It's been three months since I left. It doesn't matter where I am. It doesn't matter what I've been doing. It doesn't matter that Noah Puckerman fell off the face of the earth. I'm not him anymore. I have nothing left of him anymore.

Noah Puckerman was a Lima Loser. He was a sex shark. He was confused with what he wanted in life. He was abandoned by the people who he thought loved him. He was problematic, angry, selfish, arrogant. All of these things defined him before her. Noah Puckerman changed for her. He lost his way and found it with her. She changed him for the better, and ruined him at the same time. And now he's gone.

I debated on reenlisting for another term overseas. I did, but then I remembered what I went through over there. I have never told anyone about what happened during my service. I'm not sure how I even recovered though most of it still haunts me. But my comrades, they had a huge impact on me. They told me to never give up, to find the thing worth fighting for, and they kept me alive and sane. I owe my life to them. So much happened over there, but I still can't bring myself to talk about it. Anyway, they gave me a name over there. The Saw. Maybe it was because I tore through the training seamlessly, or maybe because I shredded on the field; I'm still not quite sure. But I do remember this one time; it was such a good time. We were on base, and we were celebrating. For what, I don't remember, but we would celebrate just about anything to get away from the reality surrounding us. It still hurts to talk about her, but one of my closest friends, Sergeant Alex Brooks was celebrating with me that night. We were drinking and laughing and not giving a care in the world. The next thing I know she put a guitar in my hands, and told me, "Show 'em what you got, Saw." And I brought music back into some of these men and women's lives. I reminded them of home.

Our flight was hit by an air raid the next day. I was still in the bunker when I heard the sirens. Me and a few of the other guys. That bunker saved us. We stayed covered until we heard one of our fellows looking for people to help the wounded. We followed behind and what we saw when we came into the clearing was worse than anyone could imagine. The people who fought day by day by my side, injured with broken bones as they tried to find cover, or blown into pieces, or burnt from the blasts. I didn't know what to do, I had never been in that type of situation before, I felt like I was helpless. And then I saw her, Brooks. She was buried under rubble, and I tried my hardest to pull her out, to save her. She smiled at me, and told me it's not worth it, and to let her go. I couldn't hold back the tears as I kept throwing the debris, piece by piece, off of her trying to reach her, trying to save her. She told that she hoped I got out of here soon, she told me to go find the girl I left behind, she told me to make something of myself, and not to forget her. And on a lighter note, she told me to put my voice to good use. She told me to sing to her, because my voice was the last thing she wanted to hear. It would lead her to where she wanted to go. I did as she asked. And the last words she said to me were "Do great things, Saw. Make me proud."

And I have failed miserably.

That's why I'm here now. Not sure where the actual "here" is, but I'm roaming down a street, backpack on my back, strumming my guitar, as people swarm pass me on a Friday night to get where they need to go. I find myself mindlessly going back to that song. That song that has marked the death of two of my best friends. I sing to myself, a small voice in such a big world, searching for a new identity. Before I know it, my voice has grown louder, and people are slowing their pace to listen.

"Well, we made a promise we swore we'd always remember,

No retreat, baby, no surrender."

I'm attracting people. They stop and sway with the music, some even joining in. The crowd grows, and I thought it was all just in my imagination. But this is real, this is happening. My voice is giving a voice to others. This, now this is what I want to do.

"No retreat, baby, no surrender."

My voice fades as I hit the last chord. The crowd of onlookers applaud and disperse among themselves. I hear whispers of "wow, he was good" and "I haven't heard that song in a while" and "damn, his voice is sexy." A few people come up to me and tell me these things, and how talented I am. I thank them and try to continue my endless journey. There is one straggler. He stays behind, waiting for the crowd to clear. I notice him as he starts walking towards me. He fishes for his wallet in his back pocket and pulls out a business card.

"If you're interested." He states.

I take the card cautiously. I look at him, and back to the card. It reads: "Brad Levitt, Associate Manager and Producer, Satellite Entertainment, 746 Piazza Blvd, Atlanta, Georgia. Music is more than just an escape." I read and reread it a few times before realizing what this gesture means.

"Georgia, huh?" I mutter under my breath. "So that's where I ended up." I turn the card to the back to find a blank side, and flip it right back to the front.

"Well, what do you say?" the man prods.

Oh, what the hell… "Yeah, sure, I'm in. Thank you, Mr..." I look back at the card to make sure I say the right name, "…Levitt.

"Good. You've got a hell of a voice, and I can't wait to work with you," He replies as he sticks his hand out for me to shake. And as we shake he continues, "and you are?"

I hesitate for a moment. Noah Puckerman is gone. But then I smile a knowing smile.

"Sawyer. Brooks Sawyer. But you can call me Saw."