They're counting on you not noticing, or maybe more accurately, not caring.
But alone in his room in the early hours of last Thursday morning, a teenage boy seems to have made the tragic decision to end his own life.
He was apparently found not long after, and managed to be resuscitated before he was rushed to hospital.
Machines kept him alive as dozens of relatives from across the state rushed to be by his side.
But despite the efforts of all involved, Cleveland Dodd's short life came to an end on Thursday night, just 16 years after it began.
He'll never get married, have children, or know what it's like to grow up.
It's unfortunately not an uncommon story, but this time it was different.
The boy was not in his own room, in a safe and loving home.
He was in a cold, hard, prison cell, under the care of the government inside a maximum-security adult prison unit which, in a move of desperation, had been turned into a place to house young people.
The government promised it was to keep them safe. They promised keeping them there would make the community safer. But on that night, those promises were broken in the worst way possible.
Writing on the wall
The worst part? This situation should not be seen as a surprise.
The government had all the information it needed to see what was coming, just like the opposition knew it was coming. Just like everyone involved in youth justice knew it was coming if things didn't change.
The only questions were when it would happen and who would pay the ultimate price. Now we have an answer to both.
Since Unit 18 opened last year, there have been at least 20 attempted suicides within its walls.
Over the same period, there were 22 suicide attempts at Banksia Hill, despite it housing around four times as many young people.
The detainees being kept in there were clearly struggling more than those in Banksia Hill.
Detainees feel 'trapped and alone'
Those sent to Unit 18 have spent far less time out of their cells than those at Banksia Hill – with obvious consequences.
Justice Department officials appear before a Parliamentary Committee
The independent Inspector of Custodial Services has frequently raised concerns, and earlier this year highlighted the "correlation between extended time spent in cell and incidents of self-harm".
"It makes me feel suicidal and I'm always depressed and I stress out a lot," one detainee said.
"I feel trapped and alone. I get really sad and depressed because all they give us is a TV and I don't like watching TV," another told the Inspector.
The sad state of affairs within WA's youth detention system received dedicated examination in the Disability Royal Commission.
'Like hell on earth'
The Children's Court, which has a front row seat to the situation, continues to deplore the experience of detainees in Unit 18 as "barbaric" and "like hell on earth". Banksia Hill detainees unlawfully detained
The Supreme Court of Western Australia finds three young detainees were subjected to "solitary confinement on a frequent basis".
"It is one of prolonged systemic dehumanisation and deprivation, with no rehabilitative element or effect," President Hylton Quail said while sentencing one boy earlier this month.
In the lead up to that sentencing, the boy had spent 38 out of 40 days locked in his cell for 22 hours or more – an experience President Quail said amounted to solitary confinement.
The Supreme Court has twice ruled on how horrific conditions in youth detention have been and the harm it's doing to the young people who get trapped in its cycle.
"It has the capacity to cause immeasurable and lasting damage to an already psychologically vulnerable group," Justice Paul Tottle said earlier this year.
Concerns fell on deaf ears
The Aboriginal Legal Service has sent dozens upon dozens of letters of complaint to the government, highlighting the concerns it hears from its clients about everything from sexually inappropriate behaviour to excessive use of force and the terrible effects of prolonged lockdowns.
Many have gone unanswered as the situation worsened.
And if all of those warnings weren't enough to show exactly what direction the sad state of affairs in detention was heading in, the government was warned specifically about the boy who has now lost his life, Cleveland Dodd.
Two weeks before he was found unresponsive in his cell, his lawyer wrote to one of the people tasked with protecting him: Deputy Commissioner for Children and Young People, Christine Ginbey.
It highlighted how Cleveland was lucky to get more than one hour out of his cell every day and had taken to sleeping through the day rather than endure the torment of being locked in a tiny box with little to do.
It requested he urgently be transferred back to Banksia Hill for his own wellbeing.
And yet nothing was done. He remained in that cell until he decided to end his life.
"There's nothing in that letter that was new," Corrective Services Minister Paul Papalia said in response.
Boy put in 'too hard basket'
Through their grief, Cleveland's grandmothers shared their story in the hopes it might bring about some change for those who come after him.
They described how he just wanted to return home, and their feeling that he was put in the "too hard basket" by those meant to keep him safe.
There are many who, with good reason, see Unit 18 as a "too hard basket" for a group of detainees the government consistently labels complex, dangerous and difficult – as if that's any consolation for the conditions it keeps them in.
Beneath the government's response to the unprecedented death of a child in its care, some might see a suggestion of inevitability.
"The cohort at Unit 18 … self-harm often, assault other people, assault staff, other detainees, are disruptive. That is the nature of the cohort that is there," Mr Papalia also said on Monday.
"What we have to do is keep them safe but also try and make it better and get them out of their cell more frequently."
Lack of detail around plan to fix Unit 18
But in the four months he's been in the job, detainees have been spending less time out of their cells, which the government has promised to fix by adding more prison guards to the facility.
Repeatedly both Mr Papalia and his department were asked over the last week what else they had done to improve conditions at Unit 18.
Time and time again they deflected, or just promised "improvements" were being made without providing much more detail.
On Tuesday, Premier Roger Cook pointed to "significant upgrades" to keep detainees safe, and plans to have more youth custodial officers and prison officers at the facility.
On Friday, Mr Papalia added a team of 14 specialists who have recently started visiting both Banksia Hill and Unit 18.
But that does little to change what's happening there now. The same thing that's been happening for months: teenagers spending more time in their cells, with limited access to fresh air, exercise and even phone calls with family.
"If you locked up a dog in a cage for 20 hours a day, the RSPCA will turn up at your house and remove it," Jacqueline McGowan-Jones told ABC Radio Perth last week.
"But we think it's reasonable to lock troubled, traumatised young people into a cell for 20 hours a day and … expect that their behaviour will improve, and … expect that they won't suffer mental health issues."
Cleveland's death prompted more promising responses from the premier and the minister on Friday.
"Can I just say I want to see Unit 18 shut down," Premier Roger Cook said.
The man in charge of making that happen, Mr Papalia, said he was committed to "the urgent improvement of Unit 18" and wasn't ruling anything in or out.
Strong sentiments, which demand strong follow up — but whatever changes come about won't be soon enough for Cleveland.
Those who have been close to this issue for years say the problem lies less with political will and more within the Department of Justice itself. But regardless, both shoulder some responsibility for what has happened.
Improved conditions at Banksia have come at huge cost
Nobody is doubting the complexity of the task the government faces.
These are genuinely some of the state's most vulnerable, troubled, traumatised and complex children, who need all the help they can get if they are to have any hope of turning their lives around.
If you or anyone you know needs help:
- Lifeline on 13 11 14
- Kids Helpline on 1800 551 800
- Suicide Call Back Service on 1300 659 467
- Beyond Blue on 1300 224 636
- Headspace on 1800 650 890
- ReachOut at au.reachout.com
But they largely aren't getting that help, or at least they haven't been for some time.
They haven't been educated, rehabilitated or even treated. Just detained and isolated in ways the government's critics argue is making their situation even worse, and their prospects of recovery even more remote.
Conditions have been improving in Banksia Hill over recent months. The progress has been significant and that should be acknowledged.
But it's come at a cost.
These encouraging signs of progress appear to have been achieved by taking a small group of children to Unit 18, where they have been exposed to worsening conditions.
Now, one of them appears to have been pushed too far.
This was never inevitable. His family believe it's the direct result of the lethal combination of his complex needs and the harsh, isolating environment in which the state kept him for months on end.
The government promises those conditions are necessary to keep those young people safe, and the community safe.
So far it's failing on both.
The latest figures show that of all the detainees who have gone through Banksia Hill and Unit 18 in the last two years, more than half have returned.
That tally doesn't even include those who turn 18 and are sent to adult prisons.
It means the community isn't made safer by those facilities.
For people applauding the government rhetoric about protecting public safety, the current approach appears to be delivering the opposite result.
Instead of rehabilitating these children and reducing reoffending, the system of harsh detention and isolation is hardening already troubled young men, and locking them into a cycle of recidivist offending and incarceration.
No matter your views on the kids we lock up, that seems a perversely destructive outcome – for the community and the children.
And the price for that failure?
The young life of Cleveland Dodd, cut short at just 16 years.