Save me. (Remington Leith X Andy Biersack)

Chapter 35

Remington stands in the bathroom with Emerson, looking at his reflection in the mirror. He isn't ready for this. "You'll turn the water off if I panic, won't you?" He asks, anxious.

Emerson sits on the chair by the bathtub. "Yes. You're going to be okay, she can't get to you, not anymore." His voice is gentle, reassuring. He watches as his brother tugs his jeans off and removes his shirt carefully, cautious about hurting his stomach.

The stab wound is marked with a fairly big pink scar, rising up slightly higher than his skin. He avoids looking at it for too long.

Remington keeps his underwear on and slowly steps into the shower, hand hovering over the dial on the wall. "Fuck," he mutters, "Em, you turn it on, I can't do it."

The drummer stands up. "You're going to be okay," he repeats, and swiftly turns the dial, pulling his arm out before the water pours down.

The water hits the surface of the shower and Remington nearly screams. He stands still under the water, staring at the wall in front of him. If he closes his eyes he'll break.

Emerson stands by the shower, ready to turn it off.

Remington can see the hotel.

He hastily grabs the shampoo and squeezes some into his hand.

He can feel her hands on him.

The boy pushes the shampoo through his hair, forcing himself not to close his eyes, no matter how much he wants to.

Water slides down his back and he rinses the shampoo out as quickly as he can. Soap seeps into his eyes and he involuntarily screws them shut.

She's right there. Knife in hand.

Remington screams.

Quickly, Emerson turns the dial until the water stops. He wraps Remington in a towel and helps him step out. "It's not real," he reminds the boy, "you're safe."

Remington stumbles in his brother's arms, wiping his eyes on the corner of the towel and opening them. "Fucking hell," he whispers, "that was fucking torture."

Emerson rubs his shoulders. "You did it," he praises, "and it can only get easier from here." The younger of the two is so proud of his best friend. He is so strong.

With a heavy sigh, Remington says, "Andy's coming round later. I told him about therapy."

"Okay. I'm proud of you, Rem, I hope you know that. You're strong."

Remington dries himself and gets dressed, not bothering with makeup or hair spray today. He feels better now he's clean. Fresher.

The whole experience he endured just to shower was very unpleasant, but he must admit that it feels good to know he got through it. And Emerson is right. It can only get easier. Even if it means having his little brother with him every time he showers, he will beat it.

He sits in the dining room and draws with Emerson, drinking tea as he tries to make his drawing perfect. He won't show anyone unless it's perfect.

They lose track of time and the doorbell soon rings. Remington pushes his chair out and winces, checking the time and realising he needs to take his painkillers for the second time today. He had been so focused on his drawing that he hasn't noticed the pain in his stomach.

"I gotta take my pills," he says, "ow, why does it hurt that much?" Remington knows why. Because he forgot to take the medication at midday like he was meant.

Emerson puts the lid on his pen. "I'll let Andy in. Go take your pills." He stands up and leaves the room to open the front door while Remington limps upstairs to find the painkillers which he left by his bed.

Downstairs, Emerson greets Andy and welcomes him in, explaining that his brother will be down in a minute. Andy goes up to find him.

Remington sits down on the bed and unscrews the cap on the bottle, tipping out four pills and looking at them in his hand.

It's funny how much better these capsules make him feel. What are they made of?

The boy just holds the tablets in his hand, not really knowing why. The small round pills are a blue colour, slightly shiny with an indent around the middle.

There's a knock on the bedroom door and he jumps, knocking himself back into reality.

Andy is standing in the doorway. "There you are," he says, smiling.

Remington looks up at the man. "Sorry, I was-actually I don't know what I was doing."
He reaches for the bottle of water on the bed side table, one hand holding his stomach to ease the pain. "I forgot to take my pills at lunch time like I was meant to."

The blue eyed man walks into the room, sitting on the bed with Remington. "What's it like when you forget?"

"Painful," the younger states, "fucking painful." He tips the pills and the water into his mouth and gulps it all down. "I feel like they make me tired, you know. Since I've been taking them I've been less motivated."

Andy hums. "Maybe. You were stabbed, that might also be why."

"So what do you wanna do? I can't be bothered to leave the house so-" he looks at the man, waiting for him to respond, to suggest something.

With a chuckle, Andy stands up. "Does it matter what we do? Why don't we just put something on Netflix?"

Remington holds his hands out and Andy pulls him to his feet. "Let's do that," he agrees, "I might end up falling asleep though, I haven't really been sleeping well." The words a re quiet, shy. Remington is still paranoid about Andy hurting him.

"You look tired," the man observes, "how was therapy? Did it go alright?" Andy changes the subject not because he doesn't car, but because he doesn't want to invade on Remington by asking why he hasn't been sleeping.

The singer shrugs. "It was alright. Feels weird giving away personal information to a stranger. But he seems nice." They descend the staircase.

In the living room, the men settle in the couch with the television remote. "I'm glad you're going. What do you wanna watch?"

Remington yawns. "Put on whatever. I don't care. But please, no horror." He pulls his knees up against his chest. "This is what I mean. I was fine before I took the pills and now I can barely keep my eyes open."

Andy scrolls through Netflix. "Being tired is better then being in pain," he points out, "The Vampire Diaries?"

The younger nods, yawning again. "Gimme a cuddle," he mumbles.

Andy puts the remote down and pulls Remington into his arms. "Go to sleep," he whispers, hand playing with the boy's hair.

Remington lets his eyes closes. Hopefully he won't have a bad dream. He'd have to explain to Andy if he were to wake up screaming like most nights.

And he isn't ready for that.