Help Me (sequel to Save Me)

Chapter 30

Trigger warning

Three weeks into tour and the boys are staying in a hotel for the night. Remington has a room with his two brothers, which he's glad about. He'd hate to be in a hotel room on his own after the whole incident. It's late, after midnight, and the boys are getting ready for bed after meeting everyone outside. The show tonight was chaotic. There were a few people near the front who were there only to shout rude things and hurt the people around them. Remington made sure security kicked them out and that everyone around them was okay, but it does get to him more that he likes to admit.

He always wonders if it is his fault that people do that. There must be a reason why they're hated, and surely it's him, right? It makes sense. He wears makeup, he's gay, he's been abused, he was the reason for a whole tour being cancelled. It must be his fault.

Emerson comes out of the shower and Sebastian goes in, leaving the two younger bothers in the bedroom. "You know you can't let the dickheads tonight get to you," Emerson says, knowing that Remington always takes things like this to heart more than he should.

The singer shrugs. "I know," he says, dismissing the subject. If he wants to talk about it, he'll can Andy, or maybe Abigail if it gets bad. He's so lucky to have such a fantastic therapist.

With a sigh, Emerson sits in bed. "No, Remington, I mean it. You can't let it get to you. Stop thinking about it."

Remington avoids eye contact with his best friend. "It's not that fucking easy," he snaps, "and, let me tell you, being in a hotel room isn't exactly helping!" He never means to shout. It just keeps happening. "I'm sorry, Em," he mumbles.

"It's okay. You need to calm yourself down. You're scratching your wrists." Emerson has seen him do it before, and he's seen how Andy can stop him doing it by taking his hands. It does worry him that his brother is unaware of the fact that he's doing it. Has he spoken to Abigail about it?

The boy's heart drops. He looks at his hands and pulls them apart. "Oh," is all he manages. He sits on his hands.

The bathroom door opens and Sebastian come out. "Shower's free, Remington," he says, "don't lock the door." It would normally be weird for him to be saying that to one of his brothers, but all three of them know that it's important that he doesn't lock the door in case he has a panic attack or something. Showering is still a bit of a struggle for him. It probably always will be.

Remington stands up and nods. He closes the bathroom door and turns the shower on, undressing while it warms up, and makes the same mistake of looking in the mirror. He really should make himself look the other way, but he never does. There's makeup still on his face, smudged after the show, and his hair is wild, messy, in need of a wash. His eyes land on the scar, as they always do, and he just stares at it sadly. He can't take his shirt off on stage anymore, and that hurts. It makes it all seem so much more real.

He forces himself away form the mirror and into the shower, still thinking about how damn ugly he is. Holly was right. Holly was always right. He can hear her as he washes his hair, calling him disgusting, weak, useless, whatever hurtful words she could think of. Remington thinks had a list of all the things she could say to him. He can also hear Andy, telling him he's beautiful, that Holly was wrong. But who does he believe? Who does he fucking believe? It's easier to believe Holly.

Once he's done in the shower, he realises there isn't a towel, and sighs, opening the door a little bit and saying, "can I have a towel?"

Emerson hands him one and the boy closes the door again. It's not like his brothers haven't seen him naked before. He doesn't car about that, he cares about his stupid fucking scar. He doesn't want anyone to see that. Maybe he should cover it with a tattoo or something.

With the towel wrapped around him, he brushes his hair out and cleans his teeth, watching himself in the mirror. He leaves the bathroom and flops down on the double bed which he's sharing with Sebastian. Emerson gets the little single bed, which he isn't happy about, but he lost the coin flip.

Sebastian is on his phone, probably talking to their driver about what time they're leaving tomorrow, and motions for Remington to cuddle up to him, to which the boy does, grateful for having such a caring big brother.

The light is turned off and Sebastian puts his phone down, wrapping Remington in his arms and kissing his head. The singer exhales and closes his eyes, still thinking about Holly and everything she would say to him just to make him feel like shit. Sometimes he looks back on all those years he spent trapped with her in that fucking house and is so relieved to be out. But sometimes he remember sit all and convinces himself that he should have stayed, that all he's alive for is so that people can hurt him.

He knows his brothers have both gone to sleep. He should be sleeping too, but he can't. Something doesn't feel right. He doesn't feel right.

Remington frees himself from Sebastian and sits up, sighs heavily, and runs his hands over his face. "For God's sake," he whispers angrily, standing up and going into the bathroom, but not before grabbing his phone from the table.

He closes the bathroom door and sits on the floor. It's dark, too dark to see anything properly, and he likes it better like that. He likes that he feels tortured, because, after all, Holly was right, he deserves it. His phone is too bright so he turns it off, the thought of calling Abigail only briefly crossing his mind. It's not like she really cares, anyway. It's not like anyone really cares.

He can hear cars outside and wonders what would happened if he were to stand in the middle of the road until someone hit him. Would he die? Would anyone miss him if he did? It doesn't seem like it now, alone, in the hotel bathroom at three in the morning. But nothing feels right at three in the morning, specially in the dark.

Sebastian wakes at the lack of warmth beside him and gets out of bed, yawning, and knocking on the bathroom door. "Remington?"

The boy rubs his eyes. "Yeah?" He knows he sounds exhausted. He is exhausted.

"You okay? Can I come in?"

Remington looks down at his hands. He's made himself bleed by scratching too hard. "Please," he begs.

When Sebastian opens the door, he helps Remington to his feet and carefully cleans his wrists and his hands and then guides him back to bed. "What's wrong, pumpkin?"

The boy sighs and shakes his head. "I don't know," he mumbles, "everything." His body is brought into Sebastian's arms. "I was gonna call Abi but it hurt my head."

Sebastian rubs his back. "Do you promise you'll talk to her tomorrow?" He can feel Remington's chest rising and falling with breaths.

"Promise," he mumbles, and yawns. "Thank you, Sebby."