Help Me (sequel to Save Me)

Chapter 1

It's lonely in the hospital.

Remington never would have been so honest with Abigail is he knew he'd end up here. How could she do this to him? He hates her. God, he hates her.

Actually, that isn't true. He really doesn't hate her at all. He needs her. He needs her, and Sebastian, and Emerson, and Andy. But none of them are here.

Because he's alone.

Everything is dull, plain. Not like Sebastian's house. That was covered in Emerson's drawings and musical instruments and good memories. The hospital is all so clinical, too clinical. The bed he is made to sleep in is small, creaky.

He hasn't seen his brothers for four days, and when they last visited, he only had an hour with them. It was torture. Every visit is torture. He get's so excited because they're coming, and can't wait to just hug them, but then the time is up, and they must go. Everyone always goes.

He saw Andy last week, too. That was nice, but then Andy had to leave. Because everyone always leaves. "I went to group therapy yesterday," he had said to the man, "I hated it."

Remington has been here for a month now. Everyone kept saying he'd make friends. But he hasn't. How is he meant to make friends when he's terrified of everyone he lays his eyes on?

When Emerson and Sebastian come every week, he tells them that he doesn't need to be here, that he's fine. They tell him that it's what's best, even though it kills them both inside.

Sebastian drinks. A lot. He doesn't know how else to deal with the pain, the anger, the sadness. He let his brothers down.

Emerson cries. He stays up all night drawing violent images and smoking. He feels so lost without his best friend.

And Remington, poor Remington, is so fucking lonely all the fucking time. They don't let him wear many of his clothes. Apparently they're dangerous. The doctors here tell him what to do, where to go. It's like he has no freedom anymore, like he's an incapable, irresponsible little boy. It makes him feel so useless. Everything here makes him feel so useless.

He is allowed a notebook and a pen, and in the free time he's given, he writes song after song after song. But then he cries. Because he'll probably never get to perform these songs.

He has a roommate, though he doesn't know his name. The roommate thinks Remington is mute because he never talks to anyone. Remington knows he's here to get better, whatever the hell that means, but it's just not working. He was having one bad day and suddenly he's locked up in here for three months. It makes no sense. Doesn't everyone want to die sometimes? That day, when he told Abigail he would crash the car, he never thought that it'd be taken so fucking seriously. Sure, he actually did want to die. And yeah, if he had driven himself home, he would never have go home, but why did she send him here, with all these strangers? Doesn't she know how he feels about strangers?

He's terrified of them.

He just wants to go home. Why can't he go home?

"How are you feeling?" His new therapist, Dr Johnson, asks him.

Remington sighs. He wants to talk to Abigail, not Dr Johnson. "Fucking fantastic," he says rudely, "what do you think? I've been stolen from my brothers and I can't even listen to fucking music because it's fucking dangerous. What the hell?" This happens in every therapy session; Remington getting angry and shouting at the man because he doesn't want to talk about his feelings to this stranger.

The doctor expects this response by now. He knows that Remington doesn't want to be here. "We've talked about this," he says calmly.

Huffing and rolling his eyes, Remington talks. "We haven't talked about this, you've just talked at me for half an hour and then said 'well-done, Remington, you've done well today.' Why can't I go home?" His voice is blunt, flat, cold.

"Because you're not stable," Dr Johnson says, "and if you carry on arguing back at me then your release date will be moved back."

This news upsets Remington. "Stop treating me like a fucking child!" He stands up. "If you tell me to sit down I will punch you." They both know this isn't an empty threat. He will punch the doctor.

Dr Johnson sighs and watches the troubled young man open the door and leave, slamming it behind him. He wishes that Remington would just open up and talk to him. It would be so much better if he would just tell him how he's feeling.

After an agonising dinner in the canteen, Remington is allowed some free time in his room, and lies on his bed staring at the ceiling. Palaye Royale is falling to pieces as he breathes. The band can't continue without him. He's the life of the band, and everyone knows it. Sure, Sebastian and Emerson are both important for it's success, but they'd be nothing without the incredible frontman. And now he's in a fucking mental hospital.

God, their fans can never know about this. Remington can't believe he really is here. No one can. Abigail misses talking to him. She knows that what she did was the right thing, that he wasn't safe, but she can't help the guilt she feels for what she did. She cares about Remington, and she only sent him here to keep him safe. She hopes with all her heart that he knows that.

The other person in the bedroom is humming to himself, happy because he just got told he is being discharged next week. Lucky for him. Remington wonders what his new roommate will be like. He doesn't like to think about it.

He wants to go home.

I shouted at the therapist again today. I didn't really mean to, it just happened. It keeps happening. I wish I could talk to him. I don't know why I still write in here. No one reads it anymore. I wish Abigail was here to talk to. I'd feel so much better if I could just talk to her. I keep thinking about the day I was sent here. How she told me not to panic as she dialled a phone number, how I was told to get in the car and she drove me here. Sebastian and Emerson were crying when I saw them. They handed a member of staff a bag of my things, hugged me, and left. I screamed and screamed. I hate it here. I hate it so much. I don't want to die anymore, I just want to go home. If I talk to the doctors here, will they let me go home sooner?