Try {Emerson Barrett}

11

"Yes Emerson!" the two oldest Kropps stood opposite their youngest brother, the one-sided distaste that Remington held for Sebastian set aside as the pair stood on the same side against Emerson who was arguing with them about his attendance to a therapist.

Emerson had been released from the hospital three days after he woke, and as expected tension was suffocating once they were all back in the cramped bus. "I'm not-" the words were halted before they could form the defiant sentence threatening to leave the 21-year-olds lips.

"I swear to God Emerson! Yes, you are going to therapy, If it the only thing I can do for you. I don't want to be the bad guy, but I will if I have to because I know you don't want to die. You told me! Remember? When you woke me up that night with blood dripping from your wrists to the floor, it's still there you know, we- I mean I can't get the stain out of the carpet." Sebastian's arm was stretched out to the left, pointing in the direction of his bunk.

Remington looked at his older brother as the new information sunk into his brain. Information that Sebastian had kept from him. His eyes flitted to the patch of red on the floor beside Sebastian's bunk, he had assumed it was wine, which wasn't that big of an assumption considering Sebastian's love for alcohol. Looking at it now though, he realised it was too dark to be wine.

"That patch of red outside my bunk is the only reminder that you should need when it comes to remembering that you don't want to die!" Emerson opened his mouth to add something, but Sebastian continued, the dam in his brain broke as the words poured out of his mouth like a fast-paced rapid ready to claim it's next victim.

"If you carry on Emerson, you will die." On the last word of the statement, Sebastian's voice broke, and it was then that all of the brothers found out just how fucked up the situation was. They were talking about one of them dying and arguing like it was about who ate the last piece of cake in the fridge. Shame and pride had no place for them in this conversation, and soon as the reality of what their future could hold hit Sebastian hard, and the tears began to slowly leave his eyes.

"And then where does that leave us.huh? What do you think your death will do to us? To mom? To the fans that use us as their foothold onto life?" The questions were shot at Emerson at such a fast pace, that if there was any intention of him answering, Sebastian's next question would interrupt. However, anyone who was unfortunate enough to listen in on the conversation would be able to tell that Sebastian didn't want answers; he wanted his brother alive.

His pointer finger was aimed at Emerson, and in the small confined space, it was barely an inch away from making contact with the man. "You don't get to be selfish with your life, you're not the only one who gets hit with the repercussions of your death. Sure, you'll be free of the temporary pain that Maisie has caused you, but then what happens, you will miss out on the happiness that follows the hardship."

Emerson remained silent and still, he wanted to despise his brother for the things he was saying, wanted to correct all of the horrible lies flying from his mouth, but there were none. " I hate to break it to you, but the only thing holding you back from having happiness is yourself. You're scared of moving on, so you hold onto the pain because you're terrified of the unknown" No. this wasn't true. This wasn't Emerson's fear, he knew his fear. His fear was being fixed and admitting he was broken. Not the future. His mind was reeling, and struggling for something to say.

This was something new- Emerson not being able to say something- as Emerson was always the one with something to say, whether it was about some new philosophical idea or a new world view. Yet, even in this time, he didn't have to say anything, because Sebastian continued, "So yes, you are going to therapy, and you are going to live"