<Tuesday, 12:00 am>

They should've known.

The signs, they were all there, waiting for someone to see them, but no one did until it was too late. Until Tyler found Ashley half-dead in the mattress of Abigail and Josh's apartment, clutching an empty bottle of sleeping pills. He didn't even remember screaming, but his voice was gone by the time they made it to the hospital.

The last few days they spent with her were some of the best days she had, according to the note she left in her jacket pocket. They had driven to almost every inch of Ohio in the span of a couple days, visiting as many spots and doing as may things they could before their parents caught up to them. Even then, Tyler knew what was going on. The pit in his stomach just grew and grew and grew until-

He just didn't want to believe it was true.

He should've saved her.

It had been six weeks since her funeral. Josh hadn't left his apartment for weeks. Abigail was like a walking ghost, eyes sunken and cheeks hollow and forever streaked with tears. Jordan had broken down at the funeral, but disappeared afterwards. No one had seen him since.

Their world was being shattered by the death of a sibling, just like his was. Abigail was buried three plots from Madison. Tyler hated himself for only visiting her grave after someone else had died. If he was completely honest, he was hoping to see her again when he was dead.

Now, like a switch had been flipped, that option was back on the table.

"Tyler, you can't stay in there forever," Chris called out from outside the bathroom.

He knocked harshly for the third time, but Tyler didn't answer. Tyler couldn't, because his voice seemed to die alongside Ashley.

"Tyler, open the door."

He didn't.

"Tyler Robert Joseph, I swear to the Holy Ghost, I will knock this damn door down if you don't-"

Before Nick could finish his threat, Tyler slipped the blade in his wallet, tugged his sleeves over his arms, and unlocked the door. Chris and Nick stood there, stunned at his state.

Tyler hadn't showered in three days, and had barely eaten or drunken anything. He hadn't changed his clothes since God knows how long, wandering mindlessly around the apartment in a hoodie and sweatpants. It just wasn't the grief that was killing him- it was the fact that is kept happening to him. Like he was some sort of tragedy magnet, slowly poisoning and killing those around him until there was nothing left.

Nick gently led Tyler into the living room, treating him like glass. He and Chris sat around the coffee table, worry etched into their faces when they saw Tyler. Nick had his guitar slung over his shoulder, but bags under his eyes.

Neither said a word as Tyler walked into the kitchen and grabbed an apple, knowing he wouldn't eat it but he didn't want them to worry too much. He was just tired. Of this plague of pain following him. Of the fact that whenever Tyler felt like he was getting better, life kicked him in the stomach and sent him back to square one.

He was done.

"When was the last time you ate?" Chris asked, finally breaking the silence.

Tyler shrugged, turning to go back into his room, but was blocked by Nick. He looked at Chris helplessly.

"Yes, staging an intervention is necessary, Tyler," Chris said, reading his mind. "It's midnight, you've been in the bathroom for almost two hours, and you haven't changed your clothes for days. Patrick and Pete aren't here, and I promised to watch you in case you got bad again. And no offense, but I haven't seen you this fucked up since you joined the band."

Maybe because I was happy with him and his sister wasn't dead because of me, Tyler wanted to say. But his lips wouldn't separate, so he opted for not saying anything at all.

Tyler closed his eyes, and all he could see was Ashley's body curled up in the middle of Josh's bed. When he opened them, everyone was staring at him. He felt tears rolling down his face.

"Hey...-"

Chris pushed off the wall to hug him, but Tyler just pushed past him and Nick and slammed the door to his room. Once the door was closed, silent sobs shook his body, making him drop into his bed. He pulled his knees to his chest and tried his best to be quiet, soft hiccups being covered by the hum of the space heater.

He was toxic. It was him. He killed Halsey, he killed Madison, he killed Ashley. He killed Josh. It was all him. And to think he almost gave himself a happy ending. Josh probably hated him, if he was even still alive.

That last thought drove Tyler to grab his phone and check it for the first time in a week. All of his messages were flooded with prayers and condolences and comforting texts that didn't help because he didn't deserve it, but none of them were from Josh.

Patrick had texted and called him several times, asking him how he was holding up. He didn't respond. There were several missed calls but family, probably asking how he was or where the hell he was.

Tyler tossed the phone aside and get for the cabinet drawer beside it, fumbling blindly through it but finding exactly what he was looking for. He slipped it into his hoodie pocket, but stopped.

Taking it back out slowly, he shook it before a cold wave of fear- the only thing he'd felt since he found Ashley- washed over him. Tyler shook it again for good measure, not hearing the rattling he should be hearing. He twisted the tap open and shook the bottle upside down in his palm, hoping to see what he wasn't hearing.

The pill bottle was already empty.