Save me. (Remington Leith X Andy Biersack)

Chapter 32

When Emerson and Shy get back later on, Remington is curled up on the couch watching a film. He mumbles a hello.

Emerson sits down next to his brother and the singer rests his head against him. "You feeling better?" He plays with Remington's un-spiked, soft hair.

Remington hums. "Don't hurt anymore," he says, "well-on the outside."

"I think you should go to therapy," Emerson informs him.

The words upset Remington. He doesn't want to go to therapy. He hates the idea of telling a stranger all his darkest thoughts. "No!" The boy staggers to his feet and swipes his phone from the coffee table. "I'm not getting fucking therapy, Emerson, are you insane! Do you not know me at all. Look at me! I'm not gonna fucking let a stranger hear all my secrets! Fuck off!"

He storms out the room and upstairs, falling onto the bed. Remington doesn't know why he suddenly got so angry. Emerson has a point. He should go to therapy. But hell, it scares the shit out of him!

He doesn't cry, he just lies with his face buried in the sheets, hand holding his stomach out of habit.

Emerson knocks on the door and comes in, sitting on the bed. "I'll come with you," he says, and Remington lifts his head up.

"What?"

The little brother puts his hand on the singer's back. "I'll come to therapy with you if it makes you feel better about it."

The rockstar sits up. "Really?"

"Yeah. You need to get professional help, Rem, and trust me, I know it scares you. If this is the way to do it, then so be it."

Remington smiles. "Okay," he whispers, "okay, I'll go to therapy."

The words are a relief to Emerson. He has been so worried about his brother, so scared the older man is going to spiral or run away again. Surely therapy is the right way to go, right? "Thankyou."

"But Em, you know I'll still sit there avoiding their questions, right?" He sounds humerus, but they both know he isn't joking.

Emerson sighs. "I know, I know. One step at a time."

The next day, Remington visits Sebastian and Larisa. He tells his big brother about the therapy and Sebastian offers to come too. With his two brothers there with him, he'll be fine. He's almost sure of it.

They search for therapists together until they find someone that Remington doesn't complain about. He is very picky about it. He needs to be sure the person he's going to expose his feelings to is trustworthy, experienced. That they have good reviews, long lasting clients.

They book in for an appointment in a week.

Remington and Andy talk. They sit in the coffee shop together for a few hours every day.

Remington logs back into social media. He had logged out when he was in hospital because he wasn't prepared to read through hundreds of comments. He still isn't. Not really.

The last thing he posted was a photo of him and his brothers posing. He looks so distant in the photo.

The fans notice this too, of course they do. They're very observant.

You look kinda sad.
R U OK?
Remington looks sad
Why's rem sad?
Just me who thinks our vampire seems upset?

They go on. He smiles. It's nice to know they care.

He reads some of his dms, sighing. For some reason people telling he saved their life makes him feel more depressed. He doesn't know why.

He puts his phone down and turns off the light, knowing he needs to sleep because its the therapy session tomorrow.

The boy is terrified.

He hasn't said so to his brothers. He has told them he's anxious about it, which he is, but he hasn't said that he's been waking in the night worrying about it. He doesn't want to worry them.

He closes his eyes and tries to think about something else, but his mind always settles back in the same place.

The boy turns over and over in bed, wiping his eyes when they tear up because he suddenly feels like he could break.

A strange, unnerving atmosphere washes over him and he swears be can hear the bathwater running. The sound as it hits the bathtub, soaking his skin.

It's not hot or cold, just warm. The sort of warm that's worse than being freezing. The sort of warm that makes one shiver involuntarily.

Remington doesn't know if he's dreaming or just imagining. He can't seem to open his eyes.

Words float around.

I'm going to kill you tonight.

He hears that one sentence so many times over and over, and he is certain that Holly is in the bed next to him, ready to claim him again. Always claiming what isn't her's.

There's contact made with his body, a hand on his leg, breath against his neck. She's definitely there.

She is definitely there.

Remington darts up so fast he is sure he re opens his wound. He covers his mouth desperately and dashes for the bathroom, only making it as far as the bin by the door. He heaves into the plastic bin so hard his whole body lurches.

She was definitely there.

"Remington?" The boy wipes his mouth. He squints because of the light bleeding into the room from the hall way. "Are you okay?" He observes the situation. His brother has been sick into the bin. Why? Is he not well? Emerson knows that's not why.

The boy shakes his head. "Emerson there's-there's something I didn't tell you."