Help Me (sequel to Save Me)

Chapter 6

There is a weird atmosphere around the hospital the day after the alarm going off. Everyone knows something has happened, but no one knows what. There are rumours, of course, that Hayley set it off. But that doesn't explain the odd atmosphere. Something has gone on that the doctors won't tell them.

At breakfast, Remington and Johnathon sit together. Johnathon really wants to ask the young man why he was so scared of the alarm last night, but knows that it isn't a good idea. The two still barely know eachother.

After breakfast, they are given their medication, which Remington is thankful for, and given an hour of free time before group therapy, which Remington is not looking forward to. He hates talking about his feelings to anyone he doesn't know. He wishes Abigail was here to talk to. He wonders is she ever thinks about him.

Abigail does think about the boy. She misses talking to him and listening to how fondly he would tell her about his band and his brothers and his boyfriend. Hopefully he'll be getting the help he needs in the hospital. She realises that he's a very private person. He doesn't like to share his thoughts.

In their free time, the boys read that shitty book out loud to each other, laughing at it and mocking it. Remington never thought he'd make a friend here.

Group therapy is soon upon them, and they are taken into the carpeted room with mental health posters and chairs. "We have some new people today," the leader of the group says, and gestures to a girl, no older than seventeen, sitting shyly in a chair. "This is Ciara." Everyone mumbles a hello, and he goes on. "Today we're going to focus on regret. Does anyone want to share their feelings on regret?"

Remington sinks into his seat. Someone puts their hand up. "I think that regret is pointless," they say.

"Why?" The therapist asks.

"What's the point in feeling bad about something you did in the first place?" They have a good point, actually.

Someone else talks. "If we didn't feel bad about things then we'd be like robots," they say.

"In what way?"

"Regret is what makes us human."

Is it? Remington thinks. Really? "I think regret is fucking stupid." Everyone looks at him, surprised at how confidently he spoke. "I'd rather be a robot than to regret something. It's a waste of fucking time."

Dr Benson is looking at the young man. "What do you regret, Remington?" He asks.

Remington shakes his head. "Coming here," the singer says flatly, "telling my therapist that I wanted to die." Everyone is looking at him now. He's never been so open before in group therapy. "I regret trusting my ex, I regret running away from my boyfriend to a hotel, I regret not telling the police I was raped, and I regret cancelling our tour and letting down our fans." As soon as he's said it all, he averts his gaze down into his lap. "And," he goes on, "I regret telling you all that." A few people laugh when he says this and he stands up. "Fuck off!" He shouts, and strides towards the door, throwing it open and storming out.

He has absolutely no idea why he just told all those strangers his whole fucking life story.

The boy knows that no one will come after him. It's a rule they have here; that if someone gets upset in group therapy and leaves, they are not to be chased down until the session comes to an end.

He sits in his room and picks up the notebook and a pen.

I'm a fucking idiot.

I can't believe I just told everyone in group therapy I was fucking raped. What the hell is wrong with me? I don't want sympathy. I want to go home. And I want a hug.

I'm so fucking useless you don't even know.

The door opens after an hour or so, when Remington is reading a book that Sebastian gave him last time he visited. "You okay?" Johnathon asks quietly, closing the door and sitting on his bed.

Remington shrugs. "No," he says honestly, "I can't believe I just said all that." He folds the corner of the page that he's reading and closes the book. "I literally don't know half of the people in there." The boy us terrified of other people knowing his problems. He always feels so stupid when he tells someone, like he's not able to handle it on his own.

The man has sympathy for the singer. It's a lot to suddenly expose your life to a group of random people. "You're brave," he says, "and I think that you shouldn't regret telling everyone. It's a good step forwards."

Remington shakes his head. He's angry and himself, and now at Johnathon for telling him he's wrong for regretting it. "What would you fucking know? You don't know me! You know nothing about me! Just because we share a fucking room doesn't make us best friends. My best friend is at home right now and I could be there with him, but I fucked everything up, as usual, by telling someone how I felt. That is what I regret." His voice is sharp. He picks up the book again and turns away from Johnathon.

"Why are you mad at me?" Johnathon asks, hurt in his voice.

The boy turns around angrily. "Because you're not Emerson or Sebastian and I hate you for that!" He swiftly wipes a tear from his face. "And because it's easier to be angry at someone else than to be angry at myself. Because I am. I'm so fucking pissed off with my own fucking stupid brain!" He knows that Johnathon feels bad for him, but why?

The older man is still looking at Remington, trying not to lose his temper. He sees the singer turn a page and sighs. "Why are you so mad all the time?" Remington rolls his eyes and doesn't answer, so Johnathon talks again. "I get that you miss your family, but you're here to get better, Remington, and how is that going to happen if you don't accept the help they give you?"

"What are you, a fucking therapist? Piss off." Remington can feel himself shaking and he hates himself for that.

"You're so paranoid," the man says, "just because you were raped or whatever doesn't mean that you have to hate everyone else." Johnathon realises that talking to Remington like this probably isn't the best thing, but he doesn't care at the moment.

Slamming the book shut and throwing it down, Remington shouts. "I fucking know that! You think I don't fucking know how fucking paranoid I am?" His voice cracks without warning and he practically bursts into tears.

Johnathon doesn't know what to do. "Don't cry," he says awkwardly, even though it only makes Remington more upset.

"Sorry for having fucking feelings!" He shouts.

"Remington, calm down," the older man tries.

The boy is sitting on the edge of his bed with his fists clenched angrily. "Don't tell me to calm down when you're the one with anger issues," he growls, standing up.

Johnathon looks physically offended. "What the fuck? Me? I have anger issues? You get so mad at me so fucking easily, it's like you don't know how to be a nice person."

Those words sting Remington. He is a nice person. "What do you know about me? You've known me for less than a fucking week and all you do is find reasons to shout at me!" His voice is loud, angry. He remembers when him and Sebastian would fight like this most nights on tour. He's so thankful that they don't argue anymore.

"Yes, because you give me reasons to shout at you!" Remington doesn't understand. He never means to make anyone upset or angry. "You can't just accept that I'm not your fucking brothers. Who cares about your brothers?"

"Me!" Remington screams, and violently opens the door. "I do!" He slams the door behind him, leaving Johnathon in silence, confused as to how things escalated so quickly.

He definitely shouldn't have shouted at the boy though, that's for sure.