Save me. (Remington Leith X Andy Biersack)

Chapter 49

In therapy just two days after the boy's breakdown, Remington sits and stares at the floor. He tells himself over and over that he is going to tell Dr Beckley what happened. He knows that Sebastian had called him and asked for help that night and he knows that that is the main reason why he calmed down so quickly. It would have taken so much longer if Sebastian hadn't sat down and spoken slowly to him.

Dr Beckley isn't going to bring it up. He can see that the boy is fragile and doesn't need the pressure of it. He asks him light, easy questions, just to get him to talk and to distract him from whatever it is that is making him shake. "How's your band going?" He asks, genuinely curious. He keeps meaning to ask what the band is called.

Remington looks up. "We're at a standstill," he admits, "I can't perform and I've not been on social media in a while. It stresses me out." The boy is being open, honest. He needs help. He knows that now.

The therapist is pleased that the younger man is talking to him. They spent so many sessions practically sat in silence. "Have you thought about why social media stresses you out?" He leans back in the chair and patiently waits for a reply. There is no pressure, no rush.

"I think that it makes me feel guilty seeing comments and messages and drawings because they have been left in the dark and they deserve to know why we've been off the grid for so long." He sighs. "But I know that I can't tell them what has happened and I just keep telling myself that it isn't my fault." This is definitely the most the boy has said to Dr Beckley in one go.

"How does it make you feel when you think about performing?"

Remington pulls his knees up into his chest. "Sad," he says, "I love performing, I feel so alive on the stage. It's just that thing that I want so badly but just can't have." He remembers that night when his wound re-opened. He shivers at the thought.

Dr Beckley is making notes quickly. Finally, they're making progress. "Would you say that performing is a way to escape?"

"Definitely I would. I have a purpose when I'm on stage, I know why I'm there. But now, stuck at home, I feel pretty useless." Remington isn't sure why he is suddenly able to talk so openly to the man. "I wanted to talk about the other night," he mumbles, "when I broke down."

The man is taken aback. He never thought he'd hear Remington talking like this. It's like he's broken down a wall that was built strong and tall and dark. "Can you tell me what happened leading up to it?"

"I went to visit Holly in jail," he explains quietly, "I thought it would make me feel better if I knew why she hurt me. It didn't. It made me feel like shit. I locked myself in my room for a day and didn't eat or sleep and I guess I just-I just got overwhelmed."

"Were you scared?"

With a nod, Remington fiddles with his fingers. "Fucking terrified," he answers, "I was so confused and I didn't know why it was happening. It was so sudden." If he's really honest, he still doesn't know why it happened. He thought he was handling it well. He really did.

Dr Beckley can hear the emotion in the boy's voice. "But do you know why it happened now? Do you understand why you experienced that?"

The singer shakes his head. He has to be honest. "No," he says, "I don't understand. I-I thought I was in control, I really did."

"How do you feel now, Remington? How did you feel in the morning after your breakdown?"

Remington sighs. "Surprisingly okay. Still scared and shaken up and I still can't sleep on my own, but I don't feel as terrible as I thought I would."

The doctor picks up a book from the table. "I want you to try and write in this every evening. Treat it like a diary. It doesn't matter what you write. You can say how your day has been, how you're feeling, or just write down a few words if that's all you want to do. Every week I'll have a look through and we can work on your fears one at a time, sound good?"

The boy takes the ring bound notebook in his hand. "Yeah, yeah I like that idea."

"Fantastic. I'll see you next week, Remington. You've done so well today. We've made real progress."

With the book, Remington follows his brothers out of the house and into Sebastian's car. He hugs Emerson when they drop him off and the two older brothers disappear into Sebastian's house.

Remington puts the notebook safely in his room with a pen and then takes his pills. He wishes he didn't have to keep taking them.

He thinks about therapy. It was good today. He trusts Dr Beckley, that is for sure.

"You did well today," Sebastian praises, coming and joining the boy in the living room. "I'm so glad you're able to talk about the other night."

Remington smiles. "Thanks for-you know-helping me," he mumbles, shy about it. "Would have been so much worse without you." He goes quiet for a moment. "I'm trying to understand why it happened." It's difficult for him, difficult to come to terms with what really happened that night.

He remembers it vividly. How could he not?

The screaming, pulling his hair, kicking the wall, crying. God, it was awful.

But why did it happen?

He remembers how if felt to be scared of his own brother, how terrified he was. He remembers what it was like to choke on his own sobs, to not know how to breathe.

He remembers how he thought he was dying.

Sebastian was so careful, so gentle. It would have been even worse if Remington was in that room alone.

But why did it happen?

He felt sad, sure, but not angry, not enough to scream and kick and cry. He felt hopeless, of course he did, but doesn't everyone?

But maybe he was just kidding himself.

Maybe he was so broken, so lost, so deeply in agony, that he convinced his own mind that he wasn't.

Maybe he still is.