Help Me (sequel to Save Me)

Chapter 132

Okay but The Bastards um hello it is actual musical genius

Trigger warning.

At the next rehearsal, Remington is in a strangely good mood, and his brothers make the most of it, suggesting changes to the set list while he isn't just going to snap at them. He still refuses to play Lonely, though, despite Emerson's and Sebastian's best efforts at persuading him to add it to the set list. They play right through all the songs twice, and sit down for lunch after.

Like every time he has to eat with his brothers, Remington can't help feeling uncomfortable at how they look at him, observing him as though every time he eats something it's a miracle. Don't they realise that it only makes it harder for him? Everytime he glances up at the two of them, at least one of them is watching him, and after ten minutes, he drops his fork and pushes the plate away.

The two look at him like they're waiting for him to say something, and Remington raises an annoyed eyebrow. "What?" He asks, breaking the silence.

Sebastian shakes his head. "Nothing."

"Okay, great, so then please stop watching me eat. It makes it very fucking hard to eat anything." He looks from Sebastian to Emerson, and after a moment, picks up the fork again. It's quiet for a few minutes, until Remington catches Emerson literally staring at him. "You know what, I'm done. Thanks for the food. I'm going to therapy." The singer stands up and leaves the room, the plate of half-eaten food abandoned on the table.

"Remington, wait," Sebastian calls, pushing his chair back and following the younger out. He catches up to the boy at the front door. "Look, it's hard for us not to pay attention to you when you eat. I promise we're not trying to make you feel observed."

Tying his laces, Remington sighs. "Yeah, well you make me feel very oserved, so thanks for that." He grabs his coat from the hook and folds it over his arm. "I know it's hard for you, but it's harder for me, and I am trying so fucking hard to recover and this just...isn't helping.

"I know, and I'm proud of you for working so hard on it. Have a good therapy session. I'll see you tomorrow."

Remington hums. "See you, love you." He briefly hugs the older man, and opens the door. "Tell Emerson I'm not mad at him, I'm just scared."

Sebastian smiles. "I will, bub."

The boy walks home, speeding up when he thinks he sees the guy who puched him, and practically runs into the house, even though everytime he looked behind him, there was no one there. He has to lean against the closed door with his eyes closed for a minute or so so he doesn't faint, and jumps when there's a hand on his shoulder.

"Shit, sorry, are you alright?" Andy asks hastily.

Remington opens his eyes. "I think I saw the guy," he says, "it might just have been my brain messing with me, but..." He's breathing heavily, and shaking. "I'm fine I think. Can you take me to therapy?"

"Of course. Here, come hug. We have to tell the police about this, though. He didn't see you come here, did he?" The older of the two welclomes him into his arms.

"No." Remington is quiet for a moment. "I thought I was gonna have a panic attack," he mumbles.

Andy strokes his hair and kisses his head. "Let's go to therapy, sweetheart."

Nodding, Remington lifts his head up. "Does the bruise look bad because my face hurts...like a bitch." He touches a finger to his cheekbone. "Okay, therapy, let's go."

"You're face looks okay, princess. It's definitely healing. Let me get the keys." Before turning to get the keys from the kitchen table, Andy ruffles Remington's hair and kisses his forehead, and the boy pouts. He returns less than a minute later with the car keys, and the two leave the house. "Did rehearsal go okay?" Andy asks, pulling onto the main road.

Remington shrugs. "They keep trying to put Lonely in the set list."

"And you don't want to?"

"No, because I literally cannot sing it without crying." He checks his phone. "You know that account I showed you? The one about being my safe place or something?"

Andy hums.

"Yeah, so since I liked one of their posts, I have been DMd literally like two hundred times. I had to block them."

"I'm sure they love being blocked," Andy says humourously, "that account is fucking weird, though."

Remington nods. "It's fucking creepy."

When Abigail opens the door for Remington her eyes widen at the bruise and she steps aside to let him in. "What happened to your face?" She asks, closing the door. "Did someone hurt you?"

Sitting down on the familiar couch, Remington tries not to touch the bruise. "Andy has a stalker and he found me and punched me." He sounds way calmer than he really is, and Abigail looks taken aback.

"Andy has a stalker?"

Remington hums like it isn't a big deal. "Yep. I'm actually freaking the fuck out but I'm also freaking out about tour so I'm acting way calmer than I really feel."

"Have you been to the police?"

"Yes."

The woman is less worried now. "Okay, and how are you feeling? Stable? Not so stable?"

Shoes off, the boy crosses his legs. "Not so stable," he answers, "I think I nearly collapsed again today." He plays with his rings. "I was with Sebastian and Emerson because we were rehearsing, and Sebby made lunch, and I was fine, but they kept just watching me eat which put me off so I left and then on the way home I thought I saw the stalker guy again and I basically ran and then I nearly collapsed." He leans back and yawns. "I also didn't have much breakfast, either."

Abigail pours him a glass of water. "I think we need to talk about this. Tell me why you didn't have much breafast."

"Because I..." he goes quiet, "I felt disgusting and fat and some stupid Instagram account had tagged me in all these photos from the last tour when I wasn't eating, and I know it's bad, but I wanna be that skinny again." While talking, he looks down at his knees, at how the bones still show through his jeans, and finds comfort in it.

"Can you recall how you were feeling on that tour?"

Remington sighs. He knows what she's getting at, and he knows she's right. "I wanted to die everyday and I did't enjoy the shows because I kept feeling really dizzy and I wanted to go home."

"Okay, now tell me how you've been feeling since you started working on recovery."

"Overall, I feel more motivated, and less tired all the time, but I hate my body." The boy frowns. "I know that I was so unhealthy then and that I felt like shit all the time, but I-I like being thin, and I don't-I don't feel thin anymore, even though I know I am. And I'm so worried about tour because-because everyone expects me to take my shirt off and wear a skirt and I really really am not comfortable with anyone seeing my body. It makes me feel so sick." He wipes his eyes when he realises they're tearing up. "Basically I'm dreading it and I know something bad is gonna happen but I couldn't-I couldn't say no and ruin this for my brothers. They've worked too hard for me to just take it all away from them because of my stupid, fucked up brain that ruins everything."

"You need to stop that. Your brain isn't fucked up, and you haven't ruined anything. If you need to not go, Remington, you need to say so. You have been working so hard on recovering and if you have a bad feeling about tour, tell your brothers, or Andy. You can't let that destroy your mental health again, not when you've been doing so well with building it back up."

"I'd rather destroy myself than destroy the band."