I sat down, clutching the shirt to my chest, the soft fabric caressing the bare skin of my neck, trying to process what I was seeing. My brain seemed to grind to a halt. I knew that there was a connection that I was missing, but trying to connect the pieces in my mind was like trying to make sense of a math term that hadn't been properly explained yet. Or, in my case, trying to make sense of a math term, period.

Why in the world would Alex be bleeding from his arms?

Why would Alex be bleeding at all?

He's not injured.

Think, think!

He's been sneaking off to the bathroom, he's been distant, he didn't smile today, and when he came back from the locker room, where there's a bathroom, he was okay, and he didn't take off his hoodie to play basketball with the guys, and now this...

None of it makes any sense.

Unless...

"Oh, fuck," I breathed, barely registering the fact that the first curse word I had ever uttered in my entire life had just left my lips. I darted out of the laundry room, leaving the rest of everyone's clothes and my stereo, still playing Hamilton. My mind could barely handle the overstimulation of music, the sounds of dinner being made, Dad and Rose talking upstairs, and the whirlwind speed at which my thoughts were chasing after each other. I made my way to Alex's room quickly and knocked frantically.

Alex, now clad in a dark-coloured flannel instead of the hoodie, opened it. "What are you banging on my door for?"

I barged inside, holding his shirt to my chest almost protectively, as if it was evidence in a court case that I couldn't afford to lose, and shut and locked the door.

"Ash, what is it?"

"This," I said, and threw his white shirt with the blood staining the sleeves at him. He caught it easily and it only took him two seconds to figure out what it was. His eyes went wide and his face grew deathly pale.

"Alex," my voice shook and cracked, "A-Are you - " I broke off, unable to finish the sentence.

"No," he said, avoiding my eyes. "No, why would I do that?"

"I don't know," I said. "You tell me."

"Ashlyn, I'm not d-doing...that."

"Then explain this!" I said, shaking the shirt in front of his face. "Explain your behaviour these past few weeks. Explain not joining in trust circle like you always fucking do, Alex! Remember?! You said it's 'beneficial' to you! It helps you help people, which prepares you for your career as a counselor! So why weren't you there today?! Why did you keep your hoodie on when you were playing basketball?!"

"I-I can't," Alex said, moving to sit down on his duvet. "I can't tell you. You'll hate me."

I sat down beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Alex, look at me," I commanded. He complied. "I will never hate you! You're my twin brother! You're the person I go to when anything goes wrong, when I need help, when I need someone to talk to. Please, just let me do that for you! I just want to know so I can help fix it."

He didn't respond, his head lowered and his brown hair covering the ice-blue eyes we both shared.

"Alex," I began slowly, gently, and with a good-sized lump in my throat, "A-Are you cutting yourself?"

The silence after my question was my answer.

"C-Can I see?" His nod was barely perceptible, but it was enough. I tried to mentally prepare myself for what I was about to see as I grasped his arms gently and rolled up the sleeves of his flannel. However, no amount of preparation could have readied me for the sight of the self-inflicted wounds covering my twin brother's arms.

I looked away for a second, trying to gather together any strength that I might have lying dormant. I felt tears prick at my eyelids and as I turned back to Alex, I made no effort to stop them from rolling down my cheeks.

"Don't cry," he pleaded miserably. "I'm sorry, Ash. I-I just - I didn't know what to do! I have this thing inside of me, and it's so big and it's so powerful, and I can't fight it. It's always there, no matter what I do, no matter who I'm with, no matter what situation I'm in. I can't make it go away, and this...what I do, it's just the price I have to pay to keep the balance."

"That 'thing' is called depression, Al," I said, running my hands over the multiple cuts on his arms. "Remember? Daniel and Carter have it."

"I know," he said. "And I know how stupid and selfish I am, too. I'm doing this when so many other people have it so much worse. I mean, look at me! I have a great house, a great family, great friends, a great twin, a great life! And I'm still doing this!"

"You can't compare your problems to other people's problems," I said softly, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "It's not fair to you or them. There's no rulebook, nothing that constitutes how important a problem is. It's a problem that you have, so it's important. You can't compare that to problems that others face. Your problem is not less important than theirs just because they have a different one."

"Thanks," he whispered, leaning heavily on me.

"You know this is why we have the trust circle, right?" I said gently, "So we can talk about stuff with each other and get help and support from people who care. So we don't bottle anything up and things like this don't happen."

"I know," he sounded close to tears now, "I just didn't want to burden anyone with my problems. I'm not even on the basketball team, for Christ's sake!"

"Neither am I," I reminded him. "Neither are Evelyn or Sofia. Yet, we've all brought problems there and came out feeling a lot better than we did before we got them out there in the open and talked about them."

"Alex," I said firmly, "The basketball team considers you family. They consider me, Rose, Evelyn, and Sofia family, too. They consider everyone in this house family. They'd do anything for you or me or any of the others because you're family. We don't just abandon family."

"Thanks," Alex said, and his voice cracked on the last syllable. He looked away in shame as tears pooled in his bright blue eyes.