Help Me (sequel to Save Me)

Chapter 22

Trigger warning

"What the hell are you doing?" Remington questions, snatching a bottle of gin from the guitarist's hand. "I can't fucking believe you, Sebastian!" He's so mad, god he's so fucking mad!

Emerson takes the bottle from him and rubs his shoulder. "You should go home," he advises, "I'll deal with this." He gestures to the mess of their big brother and shakes his head in disappointment.

The boy frowns and shakes his head. "You're a real fucking idiot," he says sharply at Sebastian, who makes a face and laughs. "Get your fucking shit together." He turns on his heel and leaves the room, but not before shouting, "You know I hate it when you drink!" Remington leaves Emerson with Sebastian and slams the door behind him. So much for spending a day with his brothers. He walks home in tears and paces the living room.

Emerson spends the whole day sobering up Sebastian and tidying up his house of the alcohol bottles, including emptying his cupboards and smashing it all into a skip down the road. He doesn't give a shit that alcohol is expensive.

And when Sebastian is sober and back to being himself, Emerson makes him sit in the kitchen. "What the hell is going on?" He asks.

The guitarist sighs and shakes his head. "I don't know," he answers, trying to avoid the question.

"Sebastian, you need to talk about this. You're little brother, who, by the way, literally begged you to stop fucking drinking, walked in on you fucking drunk off your fucking nut! What is going on?" He checks his phone, slightly agitated about Remington, but has faith that his brother will call Andy so he isn't alone.

Again, Sebastian sighs. It's not often that he's the one being talked to like this. Emerson is very good at getting the truth out of people. "I miss Remington," he says, "more that I thought I would."

Emerson gets it, he does. He misses Remington too. "This is not how to deal with it. You are going to make it so much fucking worse. For everyone. Don't forget we're touring soon, as well. You can't be drunk every day on tour."

"God, I know," Sebastian mutters, "I'm sorry, Em, I'm such an idiot. I don't know what I'm doing. Honestly, I don't think I'm very good at living on my own." He looks down.

"And that's okay. But, Sebastian, alcohol is not going to make it better. It just isn't!" He looks at his phone again.

Sebastian knows his brother is right. He always is. "I'm going to stop," he says, "I mean it this time, Em, I'm going to stop drinking."

The drummer sends Remington a text.
Are you okay?

"I really hope you aren't lying this time."

Remington doesn't see the text from his little brother. His phone is across the room in pieces on the floor. He wonders how many phones he's broken like this. A tragic amount, probably.

Sebastian nods. "I promise on my fucking life, Em, I'm not lying this time. I'm going to get sober for you and for Remington. He deserves that." His mind turns to their brother. "Have you heard from him?"

Shaking his head and sending another text, Emerson frowns. "No. I'll try phoning him."

Remington is on the floor of the shower, no clothes on, prodding at his ugly ugly scar.

"Voicemail," Emerson says, worried.

Sebastian knows that if anything were to happen to the singer then it'd be his fault. "Call Andy," he suggests, "tell him what's going on, to go home. Remington doesn't need us barging in on him like he's a kid." It's scary for him; not knowing what the fragile boy is doing. He used to know, pretty much all the time. And now-well now he doesn't.

Emerson does, thankful that the man answers.

And Remington screams at the wall the way he's always wanted to scream at Holly.

"We're a bit worried about him but don't want to jump to conclusion. Could go maybe go home and make sure he's okay?" He talks into the phone as calmly as he can.

"Of course. I'll let you know when I get home." Andy says he has a family emergency and dashes off, leaving his band in the middle of a song. They'll have to wait.

The water goes cold. Or maybe it was always cold. Remington can feel her hands on him.

Emerson is agitated. Sebastian is angry at himself. "He'll be okay," is what he says, "Em, he'll be fine. He hasn't done anything bad since before he went to hospital. He's past that." It's a shame that they don't realise how close he's been to breaking this whole time. He never really got better. He's been swallowing pills that keep him sleepy and boring. He isn't better.

Hands pull at his hair.

"I really hope so," Emerson prays. All he can do is hope.

Andy pulls up in the driveway. He is staying calm. There is no use in worrying, not yet, anyway.

Her hands slide over him. Remington doesn't fight her. What's the point?

Andy opens the door. The shower is running. Strange. Remington doesn't usually shower in the day. He runs up the stairs and knocks on the bathroom door. "Sweetheart? You okay in there?"

She is staring right at him like he's an object made to be abused. Maybe that's what he is.

"Remington?"

The shower is loud. So loud.

"Remington, sweetheart?"

She hits him because she can.

"I'm coming in."

She stabs him because she can.

Remington screams.

Andy opens the door. He grabs a towel and turns off the shower.

Remington looks at him. And then he looks at where Holly was. She's gone now. He knows she'll be back later.

And then Andy sees the discarded pill bottle.