Save me. (Remington Leith X Andy Biersack)

Chapter 37

The next therapy session is soon upon the boys. They step into Dr Beckley's well cared for house and settle down on the couch.

The therapist is wearing a grey shirt today, Remington notices, trying to think about anything except for what he is meant to be confronting. "How's your week been?"

Remington doesn't like the question. He looks at his hands in his lap. "Not great," he mumbles, thinking about how terrible the past few days have been.

He hasn't spoken to Andy since he was sick in front of him and is too anxious to message him. what if the man hates him? He's been sleeping terribly and it has pretty much become a routine for him to dart out of bed in the middle of the night to be throw up. He can tell this is taking a toll on Emerson too. Every night, the younger man sits with Remington until he goes to sleep again. Both of them are tired.

"Can you tell me why?" He's being so careful with his questions.

The singer wants to shake his head, to hide away from everything. "I keep forgetting to take my pills," he answers, only shining light on the issue that is hardly an issue compared to everything else.

"What are your pills for?" Of course, Remington hasn't yet mentioned anything about his wound.

A car drives past the house. "Painkillers," he says, not wanting to get into it. He isn't ready to explain what happened in that hotel. He probably never will be ready.

Dr Beckley can see Remington's hands trembling. He wonders if that's a regular thing or not. He can tell the young man has experienced some horrible things. "How's your band going?" The question makes Remington tear up. He doesn't want to think about that either. He shakes his head. "How would you feel if I asked your brothers to step out for a moment?"

Remington looks up. "Why?"

"Just for a minute or so," the doctor says, "you can say no." The boy finds himself agreeing. He watches as Emerson and Sebastian leave the room. Why did he just agree to that? "Alright Remington, I need an honest answer," he begins, "do you want to get better?"

What sort of question is that? "Of course I do," he states, voice louder than before, "I-I get scared," he explains, "and then I shut down." Remington doesn't want the man to think he is being rude. He isn't. he really isn't.

"Tell me why you need your brothers with you."

"Because I feel safe with them." He looks down again. "I feel protected."

Dr Beckley writes this down. "Protected from what?"

The boy shakes his head. He can't talk about it. He wants to go home. "Everything," he mutters. "The world."

"Would you say you use then to hide behind?"

Remington doesn't like the words use them. He doesn't use his brothers. "No," he disagrees, "I just don't like being on my own." The boy shuffles in his seat.

The man can see that Remington is uncomfortable. He stands up and opens the door to let Emerson and Sebastian back in. Emerson sits down and the singer takes his hand. "I'm going to give you a booklet, Remington, with things to fill in. Try and do as much as you can but don't make it a priority. It isn't homework." He picks up a little booklet from the coffee table and hands it to the boy. "I'll see you next week."

Back at home, Remington takes his pills and then bites the bullet and messages Andy. He doesn't want to lose the man.

Hey. I'm sorry I made you leave the other day. I'm struggling.

He puts his phone down and carries on with his drawing.

Don't worry about it. You don't have to tell me anything you dont feel comfortable with.

Feels like I'm blanking you. I don't want to blank you. I want you in my life.

I understand. It's okay. You tell me when you're ready. I will wait.

Remington smiles at his phone. He's so relieved that Andy isn't upset with him.
Thank you.

I love you. Don't you forget it.

Remington goes back to his drawing. He finds it soothing to watch the black ink glide across the paper in soft, careful lines. Every mark is drawn with precision and he finally finishes it off, putting the lid on the pen and holding the drawing up to admire it.

It's a beautiful portrait of Emerson, just bigger than A3, all done in black ink. He's never been so proud of a piece of artwork before. He decides he's going to give it to his brother today. Just to show that he's appreciated

He opens the booklet he was given in therapy and reads the first page. There's information about what the booklet is for, who's going to see it, what happens when it's all been filled in.

Then he reads the first question.
Why did you decide to come to therapy?

Remington picks up a pen.
Because I don't want to be like this forever.
Is that too vague?

What things do you think need to be overcome?

Fuck, he thinks, I don't want to answer that.
Everything she has done to me.
Should he put her name? Should he mention her at all?

Remington answers four or five more questions before he closes the booklet and picks up his drawing. He finds Emerson with Shy in the living room.

"Em," he starts, catching their attention, "I wanna give you something."

Emerson raises his eyebrow. "Okay? What is it?"

The singer sits down on the other sofa. He holds the drawing out towards his brother. "I-I drew this for you." The younger man takes it carefully. "To say thankyou, and that I couldn't manage without you." He watches his brother as he admires the art work. "I know the hair isn't quite right and the eyes aren't identical-" he says, criticising what's already perfect.

"Stop, Remington, it's gorgeous. There is nothing that isn't perfect about this. Thankyou."

The two brothers hug and Remington finds himself smiling.

Hi! Thankyou so much for all the support on this story! I love you all! Aliyssaa Xx