~TRIGGER WARNING! SUICIDE, DEATH, MENTIONS OF SELF HARM~

Alfred ran in the door and up the stairs to his room, dropping his backpack onto his desk. No one else was home yet. Arthur and Francis where both at work until later that night and Matthew was hanging out with Gilbert and Lars. That left him alone for at least two hours, giving him just enough time. Sitting up, he slowly walked over to his desk, moved his backpack and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. He wrote for a good twenty to twenty-five minutes. He grabbed something out of the back of one of his drawers, put the paper on his bed, and walked to the bathroom.

Matthew got home about two and a half hours after his brother, Alfred. He had spent the time with two of his best friends; Gilbert and Lars. It was odd though. He normally saw the loud blond after school. He shrugs his shoulders, figuring he just went straight home. After that though, he felt his chest clench and got sudden urge to find his brother. He shook of the feeling, deciding he was overreacting, and when to get some mac and cheese from last nights dinner. Weird, he still had a feeling of dread. He tried to shake it off, but it wouldn't leave. Starting to panic, he ran up the stairs to his brothers room. Throwing the door open, he looked around franticly. His eyes landed on the paper on his bed. Jumping onto the bed, he read it.

He read it and reread it, thinking that had to be a joke. A cruel one, yes, but the what was on the paper couldn't be true. After the third time reading it, he jumped of the bed and ran into the bathroom, hoping that's where he was.

What meet him was the last thing he wanted to see. Sitting in the tub full of water was Alfred. But he wasn't taking a bath. He was sitting naked in the tub, yes, but his arms where resting on the sides. When he stepped closer, he gasped. The water was red, as where his arms. Matthew dropped to his knees, covering his face with his hands, and cried. After about fifteen minutes, he called for an ambulance, then he called his dad and papa.

He was pronounced dead and taken to the mortuary. The scheduled the funeral to be in a week and a half. Matthew never told anyone about the note that was left for him. Just told everyone that Alfred loved them. He called all of Alfred's friends and told him he died, but only told the really close one how he left. He called Gilbert last, and he ran over after hearing the story. Matthew cried on his shoulder for three hours that night.

At the funeral, everyone was crying. Even that Russian kid that hated Alfred. Everyone. But none cried as hard or as much as his brother, Matthew. Alfred had been his best friend, his savior, his hero. But he would never know that now. Why did he have to go and hang out with them? Why didn't he see the signs that he was depressed? Why, why, why?! These where the only things he could think for the last eleven days. He blamed himself. Not the people who called him those things, he was one of them. But he blamed himself for not seeing it. For not helping him. But it was too late to think about that now. He was gone and there was nothing he could do. Except what Alfred asked him to. He told everyone Al loved them and to not be sad, he threw away all his blades and started talking to someone to help him completely stop. He would do anything, if he knew that's what Al wanted.

A year after that, Matthew lays on his bed. Reaching into a drawer, he pulls out a piece of paper and reads it. He reads it a few more time and the tears that where already forming are now falling freely. He falls asleep that night, holding the paper to his chest.

Dear Mattie,

I'm sorry that I ignored you so often and even completely forgot you at times. That's total shit, and you don't deserve that, or all the shit you get because of me. But don't worry, it won't happen much longer. I'm making sure of that. I just hope that you can forgive me for ever letting that happen, and for what I'm about to do. I know that I say I'm the hero, but you all know that's not true. I can see in all of your' eyes that it's not. But, that's not important right now. What is, is the reason you're reading this right now. You see, I know that you've cut. I never confronted you but I know that you do. But you don't need to worry, you're not the only one. I started about a year before you and it broke my heart when I saw. I know the reasons, too. They weren't hard to figure out. I've done more than just cutting. I've starved myself and forced myself to puke, too. All because a few people and stupid reasons. I get hurt to, Mattie. Not saying that you don't and that it's right for them to do that shit, 'cause it's not. But I just want you to know that you're not alone in any of this. But I get hurt in a different way. You get physically hurt and emotional when no one sees you, I only really get emotionally and mentally. I don't get hit with fists, I get hit with words. Everyone, and I mean everyone, calls me things like fatass, idiot, lards, thunder thighs, and so forth. Even you do, but I guess I deserve that one. I know that most of them believe they're joking, but that shit still really hurts. And, I'm sick of it. I've tried starving myself, went on for over half a year, and nothing changed. Then I tried to just make myself throw up anytime I ate. Same fucking results. So seeing as nothing worked, I went to cutting, and the sort. Yeah, it helped to dull the pain of it all, but not much. So I've turned to this; the last option. I'm sorry it ended like this, that in the end I'm still no hero. I really wish it didn't have to happen, but I see no other way. Tell everyone I love them and not to be sad. But Matthew, just promise me you'll stop hurting yourself. I love you Matthew. Always have, always will.

You're loving brother,

Alfred F. Jones