Save me. (Remington Leith X Andy Biersack)

Chapter 19

Tour catches up with the boys and they are soon on the road. Shows fly by. They hug thousands of people, signing the same things over and over. Taking photo after photo with the same, dead, empty expression.

Remington is all over the place. He is overwhelmed with agonising fear that one day Holly will be queuing up in line with all the innocent, pure fans that have been waiting their whole life for this.

He sits behind the table every day, quivering with terror, his writing showing it as he scribbles his name over and over on posters, phone cases, drawings, shirts, CD cases, concert tickets. Every time he looks up at the next person a pang of utter horror surges through his body until he sees that he's never met the person before in his life.

But one day she'll be there. Standing over him, smiling, holding a poster out to him, leaning in and whispering something terrible, leaving a pit of absolute dread in his chest as she walks away.

That day will come.

After a solid month of playing shows every night the boys go out to a bar. Remington drinks more than he should and ends up in bed with a random woman he doesn't even know the name of. He feels empty. As she kisses him, as she touches him, he feels so empty.

He makes her turn the lights off and won't look at her because all he sees is Holly. Holly or not Andy.

In the morning his head pounds and his minds whirrs frantically. The woman has gone already, thank god.

Remington swallows painkillers and sits on the couch with his phone, scrolling mindlessly to waste time. He mutters, "morning," to Sebastian, who fills the kettle.

"You look like shit," the older brother remarks, grabbing a mug from the cupboard.

The younger hides his hurt at those words. That's what Holly would say every morning. Usually after she'd given him a harsh beating and made him sleep on the sofa. "Cheers," he says quietly, looking back at his phone screen which is now displaying a photo of Black veil Brides.

Despite the fact there are four other men in the picture, Remington's eyes land straight on the blue-eyed, black haired singer. His eyes well up with tears at the mere sight of his ex. Andy is holding a serious yet mischievous expression, his face as beautiful as ever.

Is he as lonely as me? Remington wonders, and likes the post. His eyes longer on the man for a few more seconds before his phone is snatched from his hands.

Emerson holds it tight and sits down next to Remington. "You can keep doing this to yourself," he says quietly, "it's not healthy."

Remington looks down. "Do you know what isn't fucking healthy, Emerson? I'll tell you what," he looks at his brother, "living every fucking minute of every fucking day in fear and having to pretend like everything is fine. I'm so fucking scared all the time!"

"Why did you end it with him?"

The boy sighs. "I was so scared that he was gonna hurt me, Emerson, just like Holly. So paranoid that one day I'd wake up and he'd been leaning over me with a frying pan or a cricket bat. Do you know how hard it is to look at someone when all you can see is an old relationship?" He feels his cheeks wet with tears and wipes his eyes.

The younger of the two, heartbroken by how upset his brother is, talks quietly. "I don't know how hard it is," he admits, "and I'm grateful for that. But you can't isolate yourself from him because of something someone else did. You're sacrificing something that makes you happy for something that is in the past."

Remington plays with his fingers. "It's not in the past," he mutters, "because it's still in my head every day. Every day, Emerson, she's there, and I can't fucking make her go away. I just want her to go away." His voice is barely a whisper by the end. He lets his brother encase him in a hug, sniffling. "I just want her to go away," he whispers again, heaving a breath of oxygen.

His arms around the older man, Emerson glances at Sebastian, who is now watching the two with a pained expression. He hadn't realised Remington was hurting so much. "It's going to be okay," he whispers, "everything is going to be okay."

Later that night, once the show is in full swing, Remington feels a bit better. The hug from Emerson helped and the crowd seems even more full of love than usual, which is nice. The singer jumps in the audience climbs up the rafters and he feels okay. For now, he feels okay.

After the show and meeting fans outside, he crawls into the small bunk and exhales. Drawings of him are taped to the wall and the roof above him, letters to him explaining how he has saved people's lives, how they couldn't live without him. He smiles.

Remington drifts off to sleep fairly easily tonight which is surprising, though he doesn't complain.

Again, he awakes early, images flickering through his mind at a hundred miles an hour. He yawns, sitting up and blindly searching for his phone to check the time. 2:25.

"Fucking hell," he mutters to himself, angry at his own brain for waking him up like this every morning. He lies back down and closes his eyes, sighing, and tries to go back to sleep.