Title: Breathe Me
Fandom: Glee
Pairings: Santana
Rating: T (Self Mutilation)
Spoilers: A little bit of maybe everything.
Summary: That Friday she walked into Glee, wearing the same jeans, same hoodie, same look of indifference. She talked her self out of it, she wasn't going to perform anything. She wouldn't. Her stomach throbbed from the new injuries.
Author's Note: Everyone has their take on this song, so this is mine…I think Santana has some pretty fucked up things going on in her life, be it her parents, or Brittany rejecting her, or even just her self…
I usually say this when it comes to topics like this, so here goes, I am addicted to cutting my self…I haven't been cut in almost four years, but everyday I think, if I let this slip, I could make it look like an accident and still get my fix…
I want to put that perspective into this story, so sorry if it serves left a little bit…
Oh, and if you can't tell, it takes place in the Winter…And she cuts her self where she does because anywhere else would be too noticeable.
Disclaimer: I won't own it ever, and now that I think about it, I wouldn't want to own Glee, too much pressure…I also don't own Breathe Me by Sia…

Santana sat silently in her bathroom. The cold tile was hard and her butt had long since gone numb from not moving. She stared at the bathtub, looked away, then her gaze was drawn back to the edge of the bathtub.

Maybe, just one more-No!

She whipped her head to face the door, not bothering to move. She had time to spare, no Cheerios, no Brittany, no Puck, no Mother, barely any Father. She was truly alone in her house and it being six oh three in the morning, she didn't have to leave the empty walls for another hour and a half.

She found the tub back in her line of sight and this time she couldn't resist. She crawled to the tub as fast as she could and grabbed the razor that rested on the edge. She just took a shower, it was still wet from shaving her legs, she was still naked, having no reason to put any clothes on.

The razor was a simple one. Three blades were stuck in the bright pink plastic, a single moisturizing strip lay at the top. She tilted her body sideways, so the area between her ribs and her hip was visible to her eyes. Scars already covered that patch of skin. Some as old as three years, some as new as last week, those still scabbing and raw.

She turned to her other side to see the same thing. With the razor in hand, she was breathing deeply, knowing she had to do something. Her emotions hurt her too much, her body was too numb. There was only one way to switch the two. As a last resort, she lay on her back and pressed the razor into her skin. She just sat there, not moving, not pushing enough to draw blood, just enough to feel the cool blade on her belly.

A small portion of her brain was trying to talk her out of it. The Angel on her shoulder wept, telling her not to do it, that in an hour or so she would hate herself. The Devil, though, the Devil was egging her on, telling her to do it. Pushing, pushing, pushing, telling her things.

True things.

Things that made tears well up in her eyes, only to blink them away.

She suddenly pressed down and jerked her hand to the side. She hissed and squinted her eyes, taking shaky breaths. A low throbbing had taken place and braided its self with the pain that was lacing its way in her system. She opened her eyes and saw three parallel lines on her belly, stretching two inches. Blood oozed out and when enough collected, it dripped down the curve of her side and slid to the white tile.

Deciding that wasn't enough, she did it again, and again, and again, and again, before she stopped, letting the bloody razor drop to the floor with a clatter. Adrenalin pumped in her veins, a pounding in her ears covered the quiet that was the house. A crimson mess covered her abdomen.

She sat up, wincing as she did so and grabbed a towel off the toilet to press to her self inflicted wounds. Picking her phone off the floor, she checked the time, seven fifteen. She jumped and began frantically cleaning her stomach and running from the room to her dark bedroom.

In her closet, she picked a pair of ripped up jeans and a black shirt, as to hide the blood had it decided to make a special appearance later in the day. She glanced outside to see if she could wear a hoodie without it being weird. A light dust of snow attached its self to everything. A hoodie would be good.

Slipping the jeans on wasn't so bad, it was the short sleeved, black, cotton v-neck that burned when it touched the ripped open skin. The blood had a glue-like substance right away and glued her shirt to the skin. She gingerly got her black hoodie on and left the room after placing her phone in her back pocket.

She arrived at school and walked the hallways silently. She never seemed to talk anymore. Not at Glee, not at home. There was no reason. No need.

Santana made it through the day like a zombie. Doing, but not really understanding. No one tried to talk to her, and she was just fine with that. She had nothing to say anyway. Or maybe she had too much to say.

She periodically poked the new wounds to get the throbbing back, to prove she was still here and it wasn't some ridiculous dream. Just before Glee, she stood at her locker and her hand ran under her hoodie and stilled as it was sandwiched between the hoodie and shirt. After breathing deeply for a few minutes, she pulled her hand back. It was red with blood.

With wide eyes, she slammed her locker closed and ran to the closest bathroom. She shoved her hand under the now running water and scrubbed until the water finally ran clear. A sigh of relief left her lips and she bent over, her elbows on the counter, her head resting between her elbows.

She needed to stop, she wanted to stop, but she wasn't weak. Admitting that she was doing it would be telling other people she was broken, and she couldn't do that. She couldn't.

She walked out of the girl's bathroom and headed to Glee. She was the last one in and everyone turned their eyes to her. She said nothing and took her usual spot in the back, avoiding eye contact. She didn't want to see the hate, the anger.

She didn't even know why she came anymore, she wasn't liked at all. No one liked her. What was she doing here? She would be better off-

Mr. Shue walked into the room, and went straight to the white board. He took the black marker and wrote out the word HELP. He turned back to the class and stared at all of them.

"This is the assignment this week. It's about help."

"What kind of help, Mr. Shue?" Tina asked, putting down the hand she raised to get his attention.

"That's just it Tina, any kind of help." He smiled. "It could be like helping the environment, or helping a friend, or…Helping your self. Some people don't know how to ask for help and for those of you who are like that, maybe this can help you."

Santana stared at him with wide eyes, he knew something, he had to have, how else could this be the assignment when she was doing what she was doing?

"This could be done by your self, in groups, but only three per group, its due Friday! Get going!"

Santana sat at home that night, wondering if she was going to be doing the HELP Assignment. Maybe this was the way she could get her self to stop, maybe she could be the one who made the first step to being better.

Even she knew what she was doing was wrong. She was on her bed and fought the urge to go into the bathroom and get that razor, she had to stop, she knew she had to.

That Friday she walked into Glee, wearing the same jeans, same hoodie, same look of indifference. She talked her self out of it, she wasn't going to perform anything. She wouldn't. Her stomach throbbed from the new injuries.

"Today, we're going to listen to your HELP songs, I'm going to be drawing from a hat to see who goes first." He put the top hat on the piano and closed his eyes to reach in. He pulled out a folded piece of paper and opened it.

"Santana!" Her eyes snapped to his.

"No." His brow crinkled.

"This really wasn't a yes or no option, Santana."

"I don't want to." She told him, crossing her arms.

"Well, do you have something?"


"Then get up here, now." She stood grumbling and instead of going to the center of the room, she headed to the piano. She made a jester for Brad to move and once he was off the bench, she took up the spot.

Brittany clapped, giddy to hear her old friend play piano as it was something she rarely ever did anymore. Quinn had a half smile hanging on her face to see it. The rest of the club just looked confused.

She started immediately, wanting to just get it over with so she could sit back down. The tune was familiar to the Latina, who had played it everyday this week whenever she could. She took a slow shaky breath.

Help, I have done it again
I have been here many times before
Hurt myself again today
And, the worst part is there's no-one else to blame

Her voice was raw, she didn't seem to have the confidence that floated around her on a daily basis and now, after all this time, the club she was in everyday, would finally notice. Notice her pain, her anger, her self hatred. Notice her. Mr. Shue's eyes crinkled at the mention of the line 'hurt my self again today'.

Be my friend
Hold me, wrap me up
Unfold me
I am small
I'm needy
Warm me up
And breathe me

Santana kept her head down, kept her eyes on the keys. She didn't want to blink for fear of tears escaping their barrier. Her voice took on a whispering type of tone that showed how hard this was for her. The teenagers in the room stayed still, hoping whatever the Latina had to say through this song wasn't as bad as they were imagining.

Santana knew she needed help. She had thought it before, but now…

Now she was telling her secret. Something that terrified her to no end, much more then coming out of the closet. She could only hope that after this, she would have at least one friend, one person to hold her and know when to pry to get someplace only Santana could go in her mind.

A long pause filled the room. Santana stopped playing, stopped singing, and then started again.

Ouch I have lost myself again
Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found,
Yeah I think that I might break
I've lost myself again and I feel unsafe

She wasn't who she once was, or at least she didn't feel she was. Brittany and Quinn held each other's hand to calm the other down. Their friend was lost, so lost that they didn't know what they could do to help her.

But they would try.

Kurt already had tears on his face and handed Mercedes a tissue because he heard her sniffling. Sam clenched his jaw to hold back the tears, as did Finn, Puck, and Mike. Mike held Tina as silent tears fell from her brown eyes. Rachel's face was turning an unbecoming shade of red as she tried to fight the tears, but it was a losing battle.

How had they not noticed that she was so hurt, so broken inside?

Be my friend
Hold me, wrap me up
Unfold me
I am small
I'm needy
Warm me up
And breathe me

Be my friend
Hold me, wrap me up
Unfold me
I am small
I'm needy
Warm me up
And breathe me

She stopped again, but this time took to her feet. She moved into the middle of the room. All the students watched her take a breath and swallow deeply. Her eyes were closed and her chin trembled. After a moment, and another shaky breath, she allowed her eyes to open.

"I need…" She stopped. Clearing her throat, she started again. "I need to show you something." She reached backwards and yanked her hoodie off. Under it was her black shirt, not moving from her skin. She took in their faces once more before pulling that shirt off too, leaving her in only her pants and a black bra.

The entire group gasped. Mr. Shue's hand shot to his mouth to cover it as tears sprang from his tear ducts. Brittany's face crumpled, as did most of the girls. The boys finally let them selves cry.

Santana let the shirt slide to the floor as they took her in. She inflicted more wounds on her body that made her stomach an angry red. Blood had crusted its self over the cuts from last week, but the newer ones, from this morning, still had blood falling out. Skin hung to a few of the injuries making her look like she just came out of a war.

Maybe she did, with her self.

"San…" Brittany whispered.

Santana let out a shaky laugh that sounded so bitter, it burned their ears. "I need help." She spoke, her body shaking. A tear ran down her cheek and as it dripped off her jaw, Brittany shot up and wrapped her arms around her. A sob escaped the Latina. Quinn stood and made a sandwich with Santana in the middle.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Quinn asked her, stroking her friend's soft locks.

"I didn't know how." She answered. Rachel, Tina, Kurt, and Mercedes got to their feet at hearing this and hugged the Unholy Trio. Soon, one by one, it was a group hug with Santana in the epicenter. Mr. Shue stood to the side, still crying and thinking about calling Ms. Pillsbury to help his student.

"I need help." Santana whispered again, but loud enough for all those in the room to hear her. They tightened their grip.

"Well you have us now."

The End