Save me. (Remington Leith X Andy Biersack)

Chapter 64

Trigger warning.

There is no one in the house apart from Remington. Sebastian and Larisa have gone out for a few hours.

The boy does things to keep himself occupied. He knows that as soon as he's not occupied, he'll start to stress or panic or cry. Or all of them at once.

He's feeling particularly anxious and upset today because of some horrible comments on the Instagram post regarding tour cancellation.

Remington knows that they were just being rude for the point of being rude, but he can't help the sadness they bring him of knowing that he's a disappointment to people.

He daren't look at all the notifications, so they just sit there, tormenting him.

At some point, his heart starts thumping hard in his chest, and he whimpers in discomfort, rubbing his eyes with his fists. Why is this happening? He asks himself. What's wrong with me?

He sits with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands and pants, wanting to call Sebastian but feeling like too much of a burden to actually do it.

Everything hurts and words flash through his mind at a million miles a minute.

Remington is such a fake.

The guy in the middle looks like a fucking twat.

They don't give a shit about anyone except themselves. Such heartless people.

He keeps telling himself that they're not true. He isn't a fake. He isn't a fucking twat, and he gives a shit about everyone except for himself.

But what if they're right? What if he is a fake? In it for the fake and the money. In it for the women and the compliments about how pretty he is.

But that's not true at all. Because he's fucking terrified of women and he isn't pretty. He's ugly. God, so ugly.

The boy gasps for air, eyes stinging with hot tears. He digs his fingers into his head and rocks in an unsteady rhythm, trying and failing to calm down from whatever the hell is going on.

His face is red and his knuckles are white and it feels like his heart has been completely drained of oxygen.

But apart from that, he's fine.

Always fine.

What did they mean, fake? How is he fake? Is it because he isn't telling them what really happened? Or maybe he's just copying others who've been successful in the past?  But he isn't. He isn't copying.

He isn't.

Tears are dripping onto his clothes now, soaking through the fabric the same way that his own blood did all this months ago.

When Holly stabbed him.

She wanted him to die. He should have died.

He should have died.

Remington is so distressed that he doesn't hear the door open, or his brother's happy chatter as he talks to Larisa.

But then Sebastian notices Remington on the couch, and the chatter abruptly stops. He rushes over to the younger. "Remington, hey buddy, can you look at me?" The man talks softly and avoids touching the singer. When Remington doesn't lift his head up, Sebastian tries again. "You're safe here, pumpkin, you're safe," be says quietly.

Larisa is standing in the door, concerned.

"Come on, buttercup, deep breaths. You can do it," Sebastian encourages, and his brother finally looks at him. "In and out with me, nice and slow," the man says calmly, knowing Remington won't be able to calm down if he's spoken to in a stressed tone.

Remington is staring at the guitarist with wide scared eyes. "Sorry," he stutters.

Sebastian shakes his head and cautiously puts his hands on the boy's shoulders. "No, stop that. Not your fault." He runs his hands down the singer's arms and takes his hands, pulling them gently from his hair. "You just keep breathing nice and slow for me, pumpkin, you're okay."

The boy grips Sebastian's hands. "'m so scared, Sebby," he murmurs, and sucks in a breath.

With his fingers rubbing Remington's palms, the man talks. "I know, precious, it's alright. You're safe. I'm gonna keep you safe, okay?"

Remington manages a nod. "Hug?"

"Of course, bud, come here." He encases the boy in his arms and rubs his back. He can feel Remington trembling against him. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

Remington nods again, and sniffles, only just able to breathe properly again. "Stopped taking the pills," he mumbles, "and saw some-some mean comments about me. Couldn't calm down. Abigail said that-that if I don't wanna take the pills then I need someone to talk to when-when my anxiety gets bad." He closes his eyes and sighs.

Sebastian is glad that they talked about the medication in therapy. "Do you know who you want that to be?"

"You, Sebby," he says, eyes still closed and arms right around his brother. "I hugged Abigail and wasn't scared."

Sebastian smiles. "That's fantastic. I bet that felt good."

Remington separates the hug. "It did," he says, and a soft smile sits on his lips.

"There's that pretty smile! I'm so proud of you, Remington, I really hope you know that. You have come so far." He wipes a tear from the younger's cheek. "Every day you are able to fight through your fears and you come out stronger each time. I promise you, you're going to be okay."

The boy shakes his head. "I'm not strong," he protests, "if I was, then a few stupid comments wouldn't give me a fucking panic attack!"

"You have to stop this," Sebastian says, "bringing yourself down, you need to stop. Remington, you are beautiful, and you are loved, and you are strong, and admired, and an inspiration."

He makes his brother look at him.

"You are good enough."