This wasn't the original plan I had for this chapter, but once I started writing I couldn't stop. I love how it turned out. Hopefully you guys don't hate me too much. ;)

Heavy trigger warning for depression, suicidal thoughts, self-harm, anxiety, and panic attacks.

Relapse is inevitable.

After a week of being completely iced out by my siblings, it'd be surprising if I didn't start cutting again.

This past week has been the worst of my entire life. Nothing compares to this. Nothing has ever hurt more. Our parents leaving, jumping off the roof, the car accidents, seeing my brothers in the hospital after their suicide attempts…nothing has ever hurt more than having all my siblings hate me.

It's not an exaggeration. They fucking hate me. None of them have said a word to me after my conversation with Riker. I get glares and dirty looks but otherwise they're pretending I don't even exist.

It's killing me.

I know I deserve it. I can't be mad at them because I deserve everything I'm getting and more. I've never hated myself as much as I do now. Ratliff looks terrified every time he sees me, Riker and Austin look at me with pure disgust and disdain, and Rydel, bless her heart, she's tried to reach out a couple times, but Riker and Austin have steered her away. I don't blame them.

The only thing keeping me sane is slicing into my skin. My wrists are covered. It's been a week and I'm running out of unmarked skin. I've resorted to reopening healing cuts which I know is really bad and has a higher risk of infection, but I just…don't care.

I don't care anymore. I've managed to fuck up the one good thing in my life, the one thing I had left. My relationship with my siblings was the only thing keeping me off the edge, and now that I've screwed that up, I have no regrets and nothing to live for. Nothing matters.

I'm pretty sure a couple of the cuts are infected, because they're swelling up like most cuts don't, and I feel like utter shit. I haven't done the best job cleaning them lately; I'm not surprised that they're infected. Maybe the infection'll kill me and I won't have to do it myself.

I don't think I've ever been this low. I don't think I've ever felt so alone and unloved. When I was at my worst before, I at least knew that if I did anything my siblings would miss me. It'd affect them. That's no longer true and the realization is so much to swallow.

I deserve everything I'm getting and more. I've never been more sorry about anything. If I could take it back, I'd do it in a heartbeat, but I can't. My siblings hate me and I have absolutely no one. I don't know what to do.

I've never wanted to die more than I do now.

I haven't slept in a week.

That's how it feels. I didn't realize how reliant I was on the cuddles and affection I've grown so accustomed to.

All four of them sleep in Riker and Rydel's room now.

I'm completely and utterly alone.

There's this ache in my chest that hasn't gone away and a constant lump in my throat. I feel like crying all the time. I see the four of them talking and laughing together and it's like a stab in the heart. I don't feel good and I just want some cuddles, some love, to feel like someone gives a shit about me.

I force myself to stand, not anticipating the dizziness that follows. It takes a minute to regain my balance. I'm so fucking exhausted that I feel nauseous, but I have a therapy appointment in 45 minutes and I haven't eaten since breakfast yesterday morning. Nothing looks appetizing but I know I'll pass out if I don't eat. I'm already not sleeping.

I can't be bothered to shower. Even changing out of pajamas is a Herculean task. When I finally trudge into the kitchen, my stomach sinks impossibly lower. I bite my lip, tasting copper, trying not to cry.

They're all sitting and talking and laughing and eating breakfast together. Even Rydel is putting forkfuls of pancakes into her mouth in between peals of laughter. They obviously didn't leave me any food. I didn't expect them to, but the reality somehow hurts so much more.

I keep my eyes trained on the floor, stopping at the pantry and reaching for the box of granola bars. I don't think anything else will stay down.

"Hey Rocky, guess what?"

My heart starts racing. The nausea increases tenfold as I look up to meet Austin's eyes. He hasn't looked at me in days. None of them have. I feel like I'm under a microscope and it's making my anxiety skyrocket. "I'm gonna take anti-depressants. I'm just letting you know so you can be on the lookout for how they ruin me." He sneers the last few words, glaring at me.

I can't do this.

I get out of there as fast as I can, back to the safety of my bedroom, but the damage has already been done. My heart is pounding and my mind is racing. I can't see straight. I'm so dizzy and there are tears in my eyes and I swear I have never hated myself as much as I do in this moment.

I need to breathe. I need everything to stop. I can't have a panic attack right now. I can't do it on my own. I can't do anything on my own.

My fist hits the wall before I have time to think about it.

The pain is blinding.

It hurts like fucking hell but I can breathe now. It's a distraction. A much needed one. I bring my hand to my chest and wince.

It's already starting to swell. My pointer finger is bent, and the knuckle is swollen and throbbing. Trying to straighten it leaves me gasping, tears falling down my cheeks.

Fuck.

I'm in a world of pain by the time I stumble into Lucas' office.

My hand hurts so fucking badly and the nausea and dizziness haven't gone away. Driving here was absolutely excruciating. I'm used to driving with one hand, but never before have I had to make a conscious effort not to use the other. It resulted in numerous failed attempts to wrap my right hand around the steering wheel and only exacerbated the pain.

I'm crying freely. I know I look like a mess but I've given up.

I can't do this anymore.

"Whoa, kid. You okay?"

I'm so fucking dizzy. The world is spinning. Just as I'm about to hit the floor, a pair of arms winds around my torso, hoisting me up, and helps me onto the couch.

Lucas pulls away and looks me up and down, worry in his eyes. "Rocky, what the hell happened?"

"I can't do it," I choke out. And then I'm sobbing, crying too hard to get coherent words out. I'm so exhausted and in so much pain and I can't take anymore. I need something to change. I can't do this.

Rocky collapses against my chest in sobs, eyes squeezed shut. He's wheezing and coughing, choking on tears, trying to calm down but too panicked to do so. The poor kid looks absolutely worn out.

I recognize all the signs of a really bad depressive episode from when my own son shows them. The greasy, unwashed hair, pale demeanor, fatigue, overall lack of energy…it's all something I've seen before. He also feels warm; his skin is hot to touch, like he has a fever. That's not uncommon. Stress manifests itself in crazy ways. What surprises me is his right hand. The knuckle of his pointer finger is swollen and bruised and the finger is bent. I don't know what happened, but something is very wrong here.

"You need to breathe for me, okay?" I say, rubbing his back gently. "You're okay, I promise. Deep breaths. Everything's okay."

It takes a while for him to calm down. He hiccups and lets out one last choked sob, before lifting his head and surveying the wet spot on my shirt. "Sorry, I, um, I'm sorry…"

The fear in his eyes has my heart breaking. I need to get to the bottom of this. He shouldn't be suffering the way he is. "You have nothing to be sorry for," I tell him. "I'm gonna help you fix this. Now, how about we start with what happened to your hand?"

"I punched a wall."

That explains it. His knuckle is broken, probably dislocated judging by how crooked his finger is. I wince. That's gotta hurt. "What happened, Rocky? I know I didn't leave you and the others in a particularly good place last I saw you, but something tells me they'd be worried sick if they saw you now. You look like hell, kid."

Rocky laughs bitterly. "Worried? That's fuckin' hilarious. They hate me. They don't talk to me, they don't even…it's like I'm not even there. Like I don't exist." His voice breaks. "We cuddle, every night. Like, one of us sleeps alone and the other four sleep in pairs of two. It's how we've done things since Austin came to live with us. I know it sounds weird and all, but we cuddle and hug each other and there's love and affection and it's all gone. They hate me. I'm all alone and I know I deserve it after what I said but it hurts so much and I've never been more suicidal. I'm sorry I'm just so sorry but they don't care. They hate me so fuckin' much and they're my only reason to live so I have nothing and I just want to be dead."

If my heart wasn't completely broken before, it is now. He did say a stupid thing to Ratliff, but that doesn't mean he deserves all this. The poor kid was sacked with so much responsibility so young, forced to deal with so much at such a young age, and has had to repress a lot, because of it. I'm sure he didn't mean that comment in malice. The relationship he and Ratliff have, from what I've see, is very close and for him, to know what his brother was like before medication and see what the pills have taken from him, it's a big adjustment. He's been misunderstood and put through hell and it's not fair.

"My kids do the same thing," I begin. "Alex and Avery cuddle like that and sleep together almost every night. I can't imagine how much it must hurt to have that taken away from you. And it's going to change, I promise. I'm here now. I'll help you fix this. But Rocky, you need to go to the hospital. It looks like you broke a knuckle. You need x-rays. That hand must hurt, right?"

He nods. "I feel awful…"

"I think you've got a fever too kid. Don't worry about it; it's probably just stress. My best friend is an orthopedic surgeon. I'll give him a call and take you in and we can call your siblings from there, okay? It's all gonna be okay, I promise."

"Wait, um…" Rocky holds up his left arm, pushing back the sleeve of his sweatshirt. I stare in horror at the mangled skin. There's not one patch that's untouched. Cuts and scars line his entire arm, caked with dried blood. He's pointing to two particularly deep cuts in the middle that are very red and badly swollen. "I think they're infected…"

I rise to my feet and hold out a hand. "Hospital. Right now."

He wobbles on his feet when he stands, and I realize what's happening a minute too late. His body goes limp, crashing to the floor.

He fainted.

I pull my phone out and dial 911, giving my address to the operator and urging them to hurry.

This is an emergency.

Thoughts? Don't hate me too much. Rocky's been through a lot, and he's been forced to deal with it way too quickly, which is why he says stupid things on impulse, like he did to Ratliff. I think this chapter really shows how dependent he is on his siblings, because it's a two way street. He needs them just as much as they need him, which I don't even think they realize.

Next chapter...aftermath. The others find out, and Rocky's not completely out of the woods yet. The more reviews I get, the quicker you get the chapter.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed.