Save me. (Remington Leith X Andy Biersack)

Chapter 66

Trigger Warning.

I hugged Andy and wasn't scared, but then an advert about animal abuse came on and I had to text Sebastian to pick me up. I feel like I'm never going to get better. Will I ever be able to talk to a stranger, or hug my fans, or play live again? I don't feel like myself anymore. The old Remington was so happy, so lively. Where did he go?

Remington is in an odd mood today. He seems more shaky that usual, which is annoying, because shaking hands makes it so difficult to do simple things like making tea. This morning, he had almost spilled hot water over himself while he was tipping it into a mug, and Sebastian had come to the rescue and made the drink for him.

It makes him feel so helpless when his brother has to do such easy things for him, and he knows that it isn't his fault, but he can't help them empty feeling he has in his soul because if how helpless it makes him feel. It's so infuriating; not being able to do things for himself.

Later on in the day, just after lunch, he finds himself sitting with the unused bottle of pills that were prescribed by Abigail, and seriously considers taking them just to get rid of this horrible that feeling he has today.

But it's not like they'd help, anyway.

So he decides to do the only other thing that he knows will work, and locks himself in the bathroom. He's very aware of how unhealthy this coping mechanism is, but at this point it doesn't even matter. He doesn't care.

The boy finds it a struggle to snap the blade from the razor because of his trembling hands, and sits on the toilet seat with the little piece of metal between his fingers, sighing. He brings it down on his pale skin before he has the chance to back out and run downstairs for a hug.

It hurts, obviously, but it doesn't stop him from pushing the blade deeper into his arms. He drags it across his arm slowly, watching the blood seep out. He remembers what it felt like when he was stabbed, how the pain was worse than anything he's ever felt before.

And suddenly he can feel it again.

The knife twisting in his stomach, the water enveloping him in a deathly hold, the horror of believing that he was actually going to die.

Remington is dazed. He doesn't know if that pain in his stomach real or not. But it feels pretty damn real to him.

He gets to his feet and leans over the sink heavily, dropping the blade and grabbing his stomach tightly, convinced that he really has been stabbed all over again. The boy looks up at the mirror and all he can see is that hotel room. "Sebastian!" He screams, "help!" He can see blood soaking through his shirt and is sure that he can feel it on his hands, and they are really, really shaking now.

"Remington, buddy, are you alright? Can you open the door?" The man's voice outside the bathroom is concerned. His brother's scream for help wasn't exactly very calm. With a sharp breath, Remington holds his hands in front of his face and sees the blood dripping off them, but when he looks down at the sink there's nothing there. There's no blood in the sink. "Please open the door, pumpkin," Sebastian tries. He hears a thump from inside and tries the door again. "What's going on, precious? Talk to me."

Remington is sitting on the floor now, rocking back and forth desperately with his head between his knees. This position is all too common for him. He's so dizzy, so confused, so scared. What's happening to him?

The guitarist doesn't really know what to do. "You're safe, pumpkin, I'm here to help you," he says comfortingly, "no one's going to hurt you."

It really feels like he's bleeding out onto the bathroom floor. The voice of his brother is barely registered in his mind. Remington wants to sink into he floor and never come out again.

"I'm going to kick the door down in a minute," Sebastian warns, "please talk to me." He waits a few more minutes but doesn't get a response, and so steps back and runs at the door. It swings open and the metal lock falls to the floor. Remington jumps at the sudden noise and Sebastian crouches down in front of him. "Hey, precious, you're alright, you're safe," he says quietly, "look at me, you're okay."

Remington lifts his head up slowly. He scrambles into Sebastian's arms. "My-my stomach," he stutters, sure he is bleeding.

Sebastian sits down properly and cradles the younger in his lap, stroking black hair from his face. "Your stomach is fine," he assures, "your arm, however, is not looking so good. What happened?" He takes the boy's arm carefully and observes the slashes.

"Thought it would-thought it would help," he mumbles, ashamed. "It didn't."

A sad expression sits on Sebastian's face. "Oh pumpkin, let's clean you up, yeah?" He helps the boy to his feet and sits him on the toilet seat, wiping his arm with antiseptic wipes and wrapping it in a white bandage.

"Sebby, I'm-I'm sorry," the boy whispers, looking down, "I keep-I keep ruining your days with my stupid problems."

With a shake of the head, Sebastian talks. "No. Don't. The only way you could ruin my day is by not asking for help when you need it. How do you feel?" He puts the first aid kit away and holds his hands out for the younger to take.

Remington takes his brother's hands and stands up. "Odd," he admits, "I think-think I need to take the pills." He follows Sebastian out of the room.

"I think you need to take the pills, too," Sebastian agrees, and finds the container in Remington's bedroom. "You know that it doesn't make you weak to take these, don't you?"

"Really?" He is tearful, thought doesn't really know why. It happens a lot.

The older of the two nods, tipping two tablets into his hand and handing them to Remington. "As long as they make you feel better, Remington, that's all that matters. You don't need to be ashamed of taking them."

The boy looks at the capsules in his hand. "Okay," he whispers, and swallows them down with some water from the bottle by his bed. "Love you."

I hurt myself today. I kinda hoped it would have made me feel better, but it didn't. It made it so much worse. I had a weird flashback again and Sebastian had to kick down the bathroom door. He persuaded me to take the pills. He said that it's nothing to be ashamed of. I don't know if I believe him, though. I want to believe that there is nothing wrong with taking them, but it makes me feel so useless and hopeless when the only thing that helps is some stupid little pill. How fucking pathetic is that?!