Shut Up And Be Pretty(Remington Leith)

Three - Shut Up And Be Pretty

You're an artist? Remington kept thinking back to those three words. The words themselves weren't even the issue. It was the tone. She'd taken one look at the sketch and asked that stupid question. The judgement, the disbelief. It hurt. Yes, he was an artist. At least he thought he was. Sure, his paintings and sketches weren't great, but that didn't matter. Did it? Besides she didn't even know him. He balled up the drawing he'd been working on and chucked it. Then he sighed and stood up. He picked up his balled up drawing and shoved it into his pants pocket. He was in a park. His park. His thinking place. He wasn't like Emerson. He couldn't just block everyone out. And when he'd stumbled across this park something about it had just felt right. And so Harold Park became his place.
  He walked back to the tree he'd been sitting under, but instead of sitting down he looked up. Up there no one would talk to him, no one could see his art. Holding his sketchbook between his teeth he hoisted himself up. Up there no one else could criticize him. When he was as high as he could he sat down on a branch with his legs hanging down on either side and he drew. Anger and Disgust. Self loathing had become one of the most reoccurring of his personifications.
"Remington!" He sighed when he heard his younger brother call his name. They wouldn't find him if he was quiet. He pulled his legs up a bit.
"Remington!" Sebastian this time. "Remington!" His voice was distant. He was walking away. Remington froze when Emerson walked directly underneath his tree. He was so close to not being found out when his pencil slipped from his fingers and dropped onto Emerson's head. Emerson bent and picked up the pencil before looking up. He sighed.
"Come down. Please." Remington shook his head.
"I'm good."
"No, you're not."
"How'd you know where I was?" Before Emerson could answer a young girl, probably around twelve or thirteen walked up and tapped Emerson on the shoulder.
"Uh, hi. I'm Jean. I'm a big fan. I was wondering if I could get a picture with you." Emerson smiled at her. Then he realized this was perfect.
"Of course. Remington, get your ass down here."
"Remington's here?" Jean asked. Emerson nodded and pointed up at Remington. Jean looked up and waved at Remington.
"Hi!"
"Hi." Remington responded. He put his sketchbook between his teeth again and carefully dropped out of the tree.
"It's nice to meet you." Jean said softly, brushing her hair behind her ear.
"You too." He smiled at her. And though she couldn't see it Emerson could. His eyes gave him away. There was a drowning man behind that smile. He opened his arms and offered her a hug. She accepted and wrapped her arms around his waist.
"You music means so much to me. You're such an inspiration and I can't thank you enough for how much you've helped me."
"You're the reason we do what we do. So thank you for supporting us." She let go of him, but stayed close to him, pulling her phone out and snapping a picture. She did the same with Emerson and then asked a woman walking past if she could take a picture of the three of them.
   Looking back at that picture Jean would come to realize that Remington wasn't as happy as he'd appeared. She could see the pain in his eyes.
   When Jean left Remington started walking away. He had to get away. He didn't feel like answering questions. Instead of Emerson he got stopped by Sebastian.
"Please. Talk to us."
"I really don't want to." Remington said through gritted teeth.
"I really don't care." Emerson joined them. With much protesting they convinced Remington to go home with them. The walk home was silent and tense.
   At the house Remington tried to go straight to his room, but Sebastian grabbed his arm and stopped him.
"Remington. . ." And at that moment Remington stopped trying to hide behind the mask he'd built. He let his head drop and the tears started.
"I can't do this anymore!" Emerson didn't know how to react to that. But Sebastian did. He knew Remington felt that way. So he did the only thing a big brother could. He pulled Remington into a hug. And Remington let him.

———

A short while later when Remington had collected himself, more or less, the three of them sat in the living drinking various alcoholic beverages and Remington told them everything.
"We have a suggestion." Sebastian said when Remington finished. Remington swirled the ice in his glass and didn't look at Sebastian. "Instead of quitting we'll go on hiatus until you decide you're ready to start performing again."
"We can't just quit. Think about how many people that would affect. Not to mention the Royal Council. We understand you need time and we'll give you as much as you want. All we're asking is that you not quit. I know right now this hurts, but I also know that you would never forgive yourself if you quit." Emerson said softly.
"This is our life. We can't just through away all our hard work." Sebastian said. Remington nodded listlessly. They were right and he knew it.
"So?" Emerson asked.
"Ok." Remington whispered. This might work. Take some much needed time off. Take a step back. Get rid of his social media and focus on his art and his health. This could work. "There's no limit?"
"Nope. You take as long as you need. This is all dependent on you. Your mental health is more important than performing. I'm sorry I didn't realize earlier how much you were struggling." Sebastian said, eyes on his glass.
"'M sorry I hid it from you." Remington mumbled. "I shouldn't have. I just felt like I had to deal with it on my own." He downed the last few drops of his drink and closed his eyes. "It's my fight. My problem. Not yours."
"It never ceases to amaze me how stupid and thickheaded you can be." Sebastian said. Remington looked up and Sebastian instantly felt bad when he saw the hurt in Remington's eyes. He sighed. "I'm sorry. No, just, it's not just your problem. We want to help you."
"Wh-" Emerson could see the questions floating through Remington's mind.
"I know you don't think it and you definitely don't believe it, but you're an amazing big brother and I realize I don't tell you enough, but you inspire me! You fucking go out on stage night after night and sing like it's all you ever wanted. Because it is! You make it seem so easy! Like the fact that thousands of people are watching you is no big deal! You're a better artist than I'll ever be and you have kept me afloat for years. And I know you know that. You're the reason I'm still here. And thousands of others can say the same! I know to some of them you're nothing more than a hot body and cute smile, but you're an inspiration to thousands of kids and you have given them the courage to pursue their dreams because you are living proof that hard work and perseverance pay off. You are so much more than what everyone sees. And I'm sorry that you can't see yourself the way everyone else does." Emerson downed the last of his drink and stood to get more. Remington held up his cup as he walked past, asking for more.
"It's because of you that we've made it as far as we have." Sebastian said, "you put on more of show than the two of us combined. You're more talented than both of us combined and Emerson is right. You're a lot more than you let everyone see. You," Sebastian pointed at him, "are the reason we toured non stop for three and a half years. Your voice, your lyrics are what keep us moving onwards and upwards. We owe all of this to you. You're not worthless. And I'm sorry you feel like you are. I feel like I've failed as your big brother and that fucking sucks and I'm sorry." Sebastian sat back and sighed heavily. Emerson came back, handed Remington his drink and sat down.
"I-I want-I-" Remington inhaled deeply and finally met Sebastian's gaze. "You don't know how badly I want to believe you, but I can't! I can't because my fucking mind won't let me! Right now the sane part of me is screaming that you're telling the truth and that you mean it, but the other part is screaming louder that it can't be true and that all I am is wrong. I don't know what to do anymore! Because when I was younger and this happened I always turned to music, but now the idea of singing makes me sick and I fucking hate it! Do you know how much it hurts to want to throw up at the mere thought of singing? Because it fucking sucks and I hate it and I want it to go away but it won't! And painting just makes it all feel more real. And I can't-I-I-" His breathing was getting ragged. He was giving himself a panic attack, "Why won't it fucking stop?!" And his cup went sailing across the room. It hit the wall and broke, ice and whiskey landed on the carpet amongst the glass shards. Remington clutched the arm of the chair he was sitting in with one hand and tugged at his hair with the other. He tried to breath, but it wasn't working. His lungs wouldn't comply.
"Remington!" Sebastian's cup hit the floor, but didn't break. He knelt in front of Remington and grabbed his face with both hands. "Deep breath. Please. Come on. In and out." Remington was trying. He really was. "In and out." Sebastian hadn't seen Remington have a panic attack this severe in years. Remington took a shaky breath in and let out. He repeated the process and eventually it subsided in just crying into Sebastian's shoulder. Emerson watched with worried eyes, but he didn't know how to help.
For the first time since Remington fell into his depression and self loathing he felt like there might be some hope. That he might be okay. A hiatus wouldn't solve all the problems, but it was a good start.