Heyy peoples!! So, either you're here because you're awesomesauce and read my vampire diaries fan fiction or one of my other stories, or you're here for some glee fan fiction, which is awesomesauce too. For my vampire diaries fanfiction readers - don;t panic. I'm not giving it up. But this idea was eating me... EATING ME, I TELL YOU! and I had to write it... You don't get a lot of fan fictions about Sam from Glee... Some warnings now: This isn't a happy story. Well, it may end up that way, but for now, it's really not.... Warnings: Self harm, child abuse. Don't like, don't read. simples. But if you DO read; vote, comment, fan! Please. :) And feel free to check out any of my other stories... reads = love. :D **I don;t own the picture or the song. Picture = google. Song = simple plan, who i LOVE.
Sam Evan stared at himself in the mirror of the boy’s bathroom. A pair of hazel eyes stared back, empty of any trace of emotion. His gaze shifted to the door, checking that the coast was clear. He knew it was risky to check during school hours, but he hadn’t had the courage to examine the damage at home. His dad has been pretty angry last night, and he’d hit harder than usual. Sam was used to his abuse; as his Father had often pointed out, he was worthless; a waste of space, deserving of everything his Father did to him. Sam tried to be better. He tried to improve his grades, but the letters jumbled in his head and the numbers never made sense. He tried to compensate by being the star quarterback of the football team, but Finn took that position after his shoulder injury. His dad hadn’t been happy about that. But Sam had taken the verbal abuse, the words stinging almost as bad as the blows that rained down on him afterwards. He had curled up in the corner of his room and waited until the aching throughout his body had enough for him to finally sink into unconsciousness.
Cautiously, Sam rolled up his shirt sleeve and stared at the bruises forming on top of month old scars. The faint white lines hadn’t been inflicted by his Father, more as a result of his Father’s bullying. Sam turned his wrist so that the underside of his arm was facing upwards. The cuts here were redder, angrier, newer. Sam had drawn the blade across the inside of his wrist the second his dad had left the room. The scarlet lines hurt in a good way. He controlled the pain. Gingerly, Sam poked one of the bruises. He winced as the pain rippled through his arm. Grinding his teeth together, he fished in his jeans pocket for the small blade he kept wrapped in a piece of tissue. He could feel the memories of last night beginning to overwhelm him. He could remember his Father throwing open his bedroom door, staggering a little as the alcohol he had consumed made him sway. He couldn’t remember ever saying the words, but he could vaguely remember hearing himself begging for mercy. His Father had ignored his pleas. The blade in Sam’s hand glinted temptingly, but he shook his head. Cutting himself here wouldn’t be a good idea. Someone could come in at any moment, and if someone noticed the blood, they’d get suspicious. They’d call home, and his dad would find out. Sam would make an excuse, something about falling over or walking into a thorn bush and the suspicious party would shrug it off. His dad would have a harder time forgetting about it, though.
Sam was too preoccupied in his own thoughts to notice someone pushing open the bathroom door. Puck frowned and stopped in his tracks as he took in the sight in front of him. Bigmouth Evans was staring down at his hand, or something in his hand at least. Sam turned a little in Puck’s direction to shove whatever the mystery item was into his pocket. Puck involuntarily gasped, giving his presence away. Sam wheeled around to face the other boy in the same moment that Puck closed the remaining space between the two of them. In a moment of desperation, Sam tried to pull his arm out of sight of Puck, pointlessly praying that he hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary. Sam knew it was too late, Puck had seen, but he was still desperate to hide the truth. Puck caught a hold of Sam’s wrist and stared at the scars.
“What the hell’s this, Evans?” He demanded, forcing his eyes to look up at Sam’s face. The gesture was wasted. Sam’s head was pointed at the floor, his eyes squeezed shut.
|Chord Overstreet||as Sam Evans|
|Matthew Morrison||as Will Schuester|
|Mark Salling||as Noah Puckerman|