Alexander had been one month clean.

But as he stared into the mirror, he knew. He knew that he would relapse.

The ugly piece of skin he called his body repulsed him, the mere act of looking in a mirror was torturous.

Alexander numbly reached for his blade, sliding it down his arm, cuts opening, blood dribbling down his arm.

---

John Laurens had found out about his relapse.

He'd been reassuring, telling him sweet words and how everything would be fine and how he would get over everything.

---

Then he relapsed again.

---

He managed to stay clean for a couple of years, with occasional relapses, but only about twice a year, really.

It was a particularly heated cabinet meeting which set him off.

His arm ached for cuts.

The cuts were deeper than last time, more blood, this time dripping onto the ground.

---

"Alexander, please don't," Thomas begged. "I'm sorry it got heated, okay? I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for all of this to happen."

"Don't apologize, it's my fault," Alexander mumbled, cradling his bandaged arm.

"Let's just go to sleep, okay? Things will be better in the morning," Thomas reassured him gently.

"Fine," Alexander mumbled.

Then morning came and nothing changed.

---

He smiled at Burr, who was clutching the gun, his knuckles turning white with the force.

And as the bullet hit him;

He smiled.