Save me. (Remington Leith X Andy Biersack)

Chapter 25

Trigger warning. Mentions of blood.

Satan_Incarnate_666 You said you wanted blood. Here you go :)

The bathwater is red.

Remington grabs onto the side of the bath and pulls himself into a sitting position. He leans over the side and coughs up water, every cough more painful than the last. His stomach is so painful he feels sick.

The boy hauls himself out of the water, stumbling and barely catching himself on the sink. He falls down onto the toilet seat and fumbles around with the roll of toilet paper, tearing off pieces and trying to stop the blood that's dripping onto the floor. Pain surges through his body and he holds back cries as his shaking hands hold tissue to the wound.

He has never, in the twenty two years (I know he's acc 25, don't come for me) he has been alive, felt so much pain all at once, both physically and mentally.

Breaths burn his throat and he every move he makes puts him in agony.

With a hand on his stomach, he opens the cupboard under the sink and finds the first aid kit, knowing nothing in there is going to be much use. He haphazardly tapes bandages over the deep gash, and finally the bleeding stops. He uses enough tape that hopefully it won't come off when he moves.

Remington stands up, wincing, and washes his own blood off his battered body, water making the wounds on his neck sting. He'll have to wear a turtle neck to hide those.

Once he's done the best he can with disposing of anything that could be suspicious, he empties the bath tub and wipes any blood stains from the side.

The boy stumbles into the bedroom and puts on the new turtle neck shirt he bought today. It's most likely going to be ruined now.

He checks the time. Three in the morning.

With some difficulty, he manages to get some sleep, worried he's going to bleed into the bed sheets. He wakes up in a cold sweat, panting.

Remington skips breakfast, not sure his stomach can withstand any sort of food. He feels like he could collapse at any moment. He shoves his things into a bag and leaves the room, checking one last time that there is no evidence of last nights events.

Walking is hard. Every step sends sharp pains through his body. He has to focus on breathing and walks slowly to avoid limping too much. No one can know how badly he's been hurt. As much as he'd love to put Holly in jail again, he knows she'd only torture him for it after. It's better to suffer alone. Always better to suffer alone.

He makes it into a taxi and leans back in the leather seat, hand on his stomach to try and ease the pain. The journey is long and painful and at some point his wound starts bleeding again. He has to take his jacket off and cover his stomach to hide the growing patch that is soaking through his new shirt.

He's dropped off in town and ties his jacket around his waist to hide the blood. With aching muscles and an agonising stomach, Remington makes it to Andy's place without really meaning to. He's so close to collapsing and he can't think and he ends up outside the man's door.

Remington rings the doorbell over and over, but there is no answer. Andy isn't home.

The boy gives up, defeated, and crumbles to the ground. He can't even cry. He just inhales weakly and closes his eyes, accepting that this is the end. He's losing blood fast and he can't stand up anymore.

Thoughts rush through his mind and he wants to scream. This is a new low. He's never been this close to death before. He's been close, but never this close.

He can remember the times she was nice, when she made him breakfast, or let him sleep in the bed. When she asked how his day was and gave him hugs.
But she was only nice after a night of torture. It was like a silent deal the two had.

If Remington gave her his body for the evening, she'd spare him the misery the next day. It's one of the only things that kept him going. Knowing that, once she's done what she pleases, she'll be nice. He'll have a whole day free of abuse.

But no one should ever have to live like that.

He remembers the times when she would pretend in front of his brothers that everything was fine. When they'd ask why he had a cut on his cheek, and she'd explain how his hand slipped when he was shaving. How his brothers believed her. How they never doubted her.

That's what hurt the most, more than her physical abuse. He knew that she'd get away with it, because Emerson and Sebastian had no idea. No one did. That's what really hurt. That's what still hurts today.

Remington moves his jacket and pulls up the bottom of his shirt and nearly throws up. The bandage he had taped on is soaked with dark red blood. He pulls it off, not seeing the point of it being there. Maybe he'll bleed out faster without it. Maybe he'll die faster without it.

Because that's the only thing to look forward to now.

The tape pulls at his skin and he winces, to tired to make a sound. He discards the fabric on the ground and looks at the slash across his once-perfect skin. Blood is sticky and thick as he touches it, body jerking at the immense pain of just the littlest amount of pressure. There is practically a puddle of blood by now, and he knows he won't last much longer. He might as well speed it up.

Hands trembling terribly, he pulls the wound apart, and this time cries in pain. His blood drips thick and fast.

At the same moment, a familiar black car is pulling up in the driveway.