Alright. I know I owe you guys the second chapter to Big Time Crazed Lives but I wanted to post this. I know. I'm terrible for this. Many think I might've killed the dude but you have to wait and see to find out. ANY WAY! I'm sorry. Please forgive me. OH! And please review if I should make another chapter. I don't really like how it ended but... you guys may... I have no idea why though. Please enjoy and comment! The reviews make me as happy as can be!

New James

It felt like being stabbed in the heart. His friends tried to replace him. He continued to stare at the newspaper he had saved; each time he read over it made him feel worse. It made him think that they didn't want him anymore. Made him deem himself useless. He sighed an aggravated sigh and threw the newspaper over to the trash can across the room missing its target. After a while of staring at the cover he threw his hands over his face hissing when he hit the 'sensitive spot'. James had to begun to stare into the mirror every day, and every day he would find and deem himself less pretty and more useless than the day before; about a week after he started gaining more and more scars. The pain never really left him. It was his way of temporarily reliving himself and staying sane before he just killed himself all together. Of course, with his unusual behavior, Logan was watching him carefully. Luckily he got by with just long-sleeved shirts and claiming he was cold.

He became more and more tired and ate less and less as the days passed by. Nobody noticed that the life was deteriorating from him. Logan had soon given up and returned to his usual activities leaving James to fend for himself. He constantly felt sick and finally gave up. His method no longer worked. The pain never left. The scars would always remind him of who he is. And still, nobody noticed. He wanted to tell somebody. Do something. But he didn't. He couldn't. So he stuck with trying to give hints before he was in too deep. He could feel himself slipping further and further into the black hole called his fate, and there was nothing that he could do about it. Nothing that he wanted to do. He didn't want help but he still tried to get it. No help ever came.

Eventually he figured that he had depression. He had the weight loss. He felt useless. He didn't want to live anymore. He would read articles about it all day long on the laptop Kelly and Gustavo bought for them trying to grasp what he should do. Every article contained a simple message in many forms. Get help. That was the message the articles where trying to send. It was what he was supposed to do. Yet he didn't do it. He just sat there and waited to die. Soon Kendall, Carlos, and Logan burst through his door one day with an article that he had read in the past day. Their faces where white and their eyes where huge, mouths agape. He would just stare blankly at the intruders. Logan, concerned, asked why James was depressed. James would give no answer. Then Carlos asked if James had hurt himself. James didn't answer. Instead all he did was pull up the sleeves of his shirt and unwrap the bandages that where around his wrists to his shoulders. Each arm was covered in markings in various places. James didn't show any emotion. He didn't cry with his friends. His face didn't go white when theirs did. He didn't say a word. He just sat there and let them count the scars.

Sixty-two. Sixty-two scars. Sixty-two times that the razor had grazed across his skin. The three told him that every night before he went to bed that they would count and they didn't want to find more than sixty-two scars. He had agreed with their demand. It showed him that they did care. That they didn't hate him. But he still felt useless, worthless. The days went on. He managed to keep his promise and the scars where starting to fade along with his worries, until today.

James stared at himself in the mirror once again. Carlos had taken the razor and anything sharp out of the bathroom and put safety locks on all medicine cabinets, Kendall took all of the knives and locked them in a safe that only he knew the combination for along with all of the other sharp objects in the house, and Logan took it as his responsibility to search James every day for anything that he could harm himself with. The pain returned sharply earlier making him feel worse than he did a long time ago. He didn't have anything to ease the pain. No razor, no pills, nothing. Suddenly an idea popped in his head. He reeled his fist back and aimed for the mirror. He felt a pleasurable pain as his fist connected with the glass as cracks quickly paved their way claiming their place before the mirror shattered. Shards of glass where on the counter, in the sink, and on the floor. James sat on the floor and picked up the first one his eyes laid on. He grazed it across his skin trying to leave a mark but he threw it across the room rendering it useless. He then picked up a sharper one with a threatening point. He traced an old scar, smiling at the pain and blood it drew.

He traced another and almost jumped for joy. Scar after scar was reopened. He loved the way his blood trailed down to his elbow from his wrists and shoulders before dropping to the ground. Soon enough a puddle formed around his too thin body. He dropped the glass shard to the tile with a clink and his arms fell to his sides. His eyes where slowly closing and he constantly tried to keep them open. Finally, he fell over, his head resting beside the door. He heard a quick knock on the door and the twisting of the locked door. Carlos. Carlos was home. Carlos could help him. James pried his lips open to speak but no words came out. A loud cracking noise was heard in the back of his head as Carlos busted through the door with his helmet. Immediately Carlos froze. James couldn't hear what he was shouting or what Logan yelled when he appeared in the door way. He could see the black dots appear in his vision and his eyes closed to a slit. His world went black and the lives around him crashed.

Don't kill me, please...