Ashley stood in the warehouse bathroom, studying himself in the mirror with a knife on the counter. All he was when he looked into it was the reflection of his brother, Aidan. It amazed him how two people who looked so much alike could be so different on the inside. He had always been the quiet one, the one who could stand in the shadows and never be noticed. Aidan was the loud one that everyone loved. He couldn't understand it. He tried so hard to get everyone else's approval, to be the person they wanted him to be but he just couldn't.

Cray liked Aidan better as well. Ashley was a better pickpocket though, everyone knew that, but they still loved Aidan more. He couldn't understand what he was doing wrong. He tried so hard to please them. It hurt, sometimes even more then he wanted to admit to himself. All he wanted was Cray's attention. It had been like this his whole life. Even their father loved Aidan more. He had even told them once before he died that he wished Ashley had never been born. One son would have been much easier to care for then two. He was jealous of his brother and always had been.

It was his fault Aidan couldn't have had a better life with their father. Everything was his fault. Everything was blamed on him. Sometimes, though, a part of him didn't even care that he was blamed for everything. It gave him the attention he craved. So then why was he standing in the bathroom with a knife at his side if he didn't care? He wasn't sure... he was just tired of always taking the blame, of always being pushed around and beat up on. Of keeping a secret about himself deep inside for if it was ever exposed one of the guys would kill him or they'd kick him out after beating him up.

It was all becoming too much for him. If he was gone Cray wouldn't have to worry about looking out for him. The rest of the gang of pickpockets could go find someone else to tease. And Aidan wouldn't have to worry about always sticking up for him.

He knew there were other ways of going about leaving them all. And he had tried them. He had run away nearly a dozen times before but eventually Cray would find him, half starved in an alley and bring him back to the building. He had tried getting caught by the police after stealing money from someone once but Aidan had been watching and dragged him to a safe place before he could be arrested. No. This was the only thing left to do. It was his last resort. Nothing else worked.

The fourteen-year-old swallowed hard and picked up the knife, grasping it in one shaky hand. He looked at himself in the mirror again before turning his left arm over and bringing the blade to his pale flesh. He took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself, then, without any further hesitation, he sliced at his wrist with the blade and repeated the assault to the other side.

He watched as the dark blood flowed from his veins and ran down his arm to the floor, tears stinging his eyes. The knife dropped to his side. No thoughts raced through his mind as he thought they might. He merely watched in fascination with his blue eyes as the blood continued to fall. Surprisingly it didn't hurt as much as he had imagined it would but he cried still, his sobs eventually bringing attention to himself.

There was a pounding at the door when he fell onto his knees and began to black out. He prayed silently to himself that whoever was on the other end of the door wouldn't enter in time. Things didn't go to plan, however, and when the door opened he saw Cray with his eyes wide and three other boys behind him, swearing and yelling. He knew Aidan wouldn't have been there, he had planned it so his twin would be out when he would commit suicide. In an instant they were all at his side, wrapping his wrists up to stop the blood. He was too weak to try and fight then and soon a cold darkness surrounded him then everything went black.