This was the worst week of my life. Everyone was dumping on me, putting her down. Moreso than usual. There was Santana, Quinn, Mr. Schue, Finn, Mercedes. Then Brittany, Mike, Tina, Artie, all just... standing there. The only one who's been there was Noah, but he can't be there all the time. He's only one person. He can't handle the mess that is me, Rachel Berry.
Why do they hate me so much? I've made some bad choices but I try so hard, so hard to rectify them. I've tried so hard to just... be liked. Even when I'm quiet, not stealing people's boyfriends or sending girls to crackhouses.
When I put it like that, I guess I deserve it.
But, does anyone really deserve it? The bullying I recieve is just as real and brutal as the bullying Kurt recieved. Maybe not as physical, but it's still there. It still hurts. It still cuts me deep until I'm raw and bleeding and open and I feel like there's nothing left of me.
I died this week. I let them win. Stopped fighting for solos, stopped fighting back with Santana, stopped everything. Hell, I even stopped singing. I was just a shell of a body where the old Rachel Berry used to be.
So, I thought I might as well rid the world of the shell.
I almost reconsidered it. I recieved a text from Kurt and remembered. I remembered we had plans and I had a friend. Someone I could vent too, someone I could lean on, and then I saw that he was cancelling on me. My one friend didn't want to be there for me. I was just a nuissance. An distraction. An interruption into everyone else's normally scheduled lives.
Noah comes to me and I want so badly to just unload it all onto him and cry and let him take me into his big, strong, arms and make everything better again. I do. But he can't. He can't, he can't, he can't. And he'll kill himself trying to make everything right for me. I can't unload that onto him. He has such a good heart, has been through so much. So, I tell him I'm fine as he kisses me on the temple, and savor the memory of his lips against my skin, because that's the last memory I'll ever have of him.
And I find it kind of funny, And I find it kind of sad. The dreams in which I'm dying, are the best I've ever had.
When I get home I sit down to prepare. Because, Rachel Berry is nothing if not prepared. I set down and begin to write individual letters to all the people who have played a role in my life but I decide against it. Some, like Noah's, could go on for pages and pages while other's, like Santana's, would just have two words: Fuck you.
I want to go outside and shout swear words at the sky. I want to get so drunk. I want to committ a crime. I want to do something to make this a bit more dramatic because my dramatics are, no, were, my everything. But this pain in my chest hurts too much to even do that, and I just want it to be done.
I quickly scrawl out onto a piece of paper I would say I'm sorry, but since none of you cared, I guess there isn't really anything to be sorry for.
I clutch the slip of paper in one hand and go into my fathers' room. I go over to their safe and slowly enter the combination. Maybe if they were ever around to realize how I was crumbling underneath their eyes, they would have moved the gun to a place that I could not get it.
I take it out and see all the people who have at some point in my life meant something to me: Shelby, Jesse, Finn, Kurt, My dads. I then see the only person that means something to me now: Noah. I hope that maybe he'll be able to forgive me for this even though I know in my heart that he won't. But, in a way, I'm doing this for him. I'm giving him a better life. One without me.
I slowly walk to my room, clutching the slip in one hand and the pistol in the other.
I place the pistol to my head.
Because I'm Rachel Berry, and I'm nothing if I don't go out with a BANG.