I was going to wait until tomorrow to update this story, but since I finished it, I decided to just go ahead and update it right now. I really like how this chapter turned out, and hopefully you guys will, too. There is mention of self-harm in this, just letting you know… It's really angsty and upsetting. It's mostly just Carlos' thoughts throughout the whole thing, so I guess it could be seen as a filler chapter. Enjoy.

Here's the thing about depression—as hard as you try to brush it off or push it to the side, it's pretty much near impossible to do so. It's like a shadow that follows you everywhere. Even though you cannot see it, you just know that it's there, and that at any given opportunity, it will make itself present, whether it be invited or not.

And sure, people will say that they are used to the feeling of utter sadness and emptiness that takes over them on a daily basis, but it's not something you can really get used to. The pain still hurts, the sadness still takes over, the walls still close in on you, making it seem like you're suffocating. But maybe, that's because you are. You're fighting a battle, against your own demons. They either kill you or the world does; there's no outlet. At least, that's what it feels like to someone who has no hope left in them.

"It's all in your head," people will say, making you feel like a fool; making you feel like you are delusional. And maybe, it is in your head, but not in the way one might think. The voices, the whispers, the thoughts are all you, but they're also words that have accumulated from your past. It's not something you can vanish with the push of a button. A lot of people seem to think that that's the case. Of course, it's hard to understand something you've never experienced. But people will be rude about it, and tell you things like, "Just be happy, it's not that hard."

It is that hard. It's so freaking hard. It's so hard to be happy when your thoughts are nothing but dark. People choose to put on a mask for a variety of different reasons. Whether it be, because they don't want to appear weak, they don't want others to worry, they don't want pity, they don't want to be taken advantage of—we all have a reason.

For instance, I act like my happy-go-lucky self, because it's all I've ever known, and because I in no way want the others to worry about me. I don't want to be seen as a burden—as someone who needs to be looked out for. It's hard enough being the smallest, the most accident-prone, the reckless.

Lately though, acting like my old self has been getting harder and harder to do. I've started to not care about anything, and the thought of that alone terrifies me. At the same time, I'm not doing anything to put a stop to it. It's like there's two sides of me; the one that cares too little, and the one that cares too much, and so far, the one that cares too little has taken the upper-hand.

It's a terrifying feeling—knowing that you're spiraling out of control. There are days when I stop and wonder where I went wrong; days when I hold the blade to my skin and realize that it is wrong. But the thought vanishes as soon as it appears—it doesn't always stop me.

I'm terrified of the boys finding out about my dilemma. They would all worry for sure. I don't even want to think about how they would react. Of course, what I want to think about and what I do think about, are two very different things. I often spend a lot of time thinking about what I don't want to think about. Like about how Logan's anxiety would increase drastically, if he had to watch out for me. Or how James would push his daily routines aside, in order to make sure I didn't do anything to hurt myself. Or how about the way Kendall would pace back and forth, feeling like a failure for not having seen it sooner? You'd think that that would be enough to stop me from self-harming, from starving myself, that it would fix all my problems. But in all honesty, it only makes me feel worse about myself. It makes me feel like I've not only failed myself but them as well.

I hear a light knock on the door, pulling me out of my thoughts. In one swift movement, I place the blade under my pillow and pretend to be asleep. I hear footsteps behind me, two pairs to be exact.

"He's seemed off lately," I hear Kendall whisper. "Do you think maybe he's sick?" The question hangs in the air for a few seconds, before another voice makes itself present.

"Could be, but I don't think so. Logan said it might be exhaustion, and considering how much Gustavo has been making us work, that's probably it." It's James' voice. I can almost picture Kendall nodding in agreement.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," he says, but I can hear the hesitation in his tone. He sounds as if he's lost in thought.

"You worry too much, Ken," James whispers. If only he knew the truth. "Carlitos will be fine and back to his giddy self in no time, you'll see."

I don't know about that...

"Have you ever known me to not worry?" A pause. "When we were walking home, he said something—something that caught me off-guard."

"What did he say?" James asks. I freeze inwardly, dreading the next words that will spill from Kendall's lips.

"He said that I shouldn't be worrying... That because he was the oldest, he was the one that should be worrying about us, and not the other way around."

"That's a crappy excuse not to worry," James responds, and it's not like I don't know that he's right. Because I know. Deep down I do know.

"So, I told him that that didn't change anything." Kendall sighs, obviously irritated. "You're right, he's probably fine, just tired. I'm kind of tired myself. I think I'm going to head to bed early. We do have to be in the studio early in the morning."

"Alright, goodnight, buddy."

"Goodnight."

I hear Kendall's footsteps slowly fade as he walks out of the room. I can't really tell what James is doing, considering my back is turned towards him, but within seconds, the lamplight in between our beds gets turned off and I hear him climb into bed. Within minutes, I hear him softly snoring. It's not until then, that I allow my tears to escape.

I'm forced to bury my face against my pillow to muffle my sobs. It's nothing new; it's a daily routine. I'm used to it, but as I mentioned before, it doesn't make the pain lessen in the slightest. It still hurts—my heart aches, literally. It's a horrible feeling, one that I would not wish upon my worst enemy.

Climbing out of bed, I grab the blade and make my way to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. It is with no hesitation that I slash the blade against my skin and watch blood pool around the new wound. Tears blur my vision, sobs escape my lips. Everything hurts, everything, as I seek a temporary release, even though I know it's wrong. I couldn't be bothered to care anymore.

I'm about ready to give up.

What did you guys think of the chapter? Love it? Hate it? Anything I can improve on?

I've been working on some of my other stories, but I find this story a lot easier to write. Hopefully I'll update the others soon enough. Thank you for reading. Hope you guys liked it.

~ BigTimeRush-BTR :)