Help Me (sequel to Save Me)

Chapter 37

You guessed it! Trigger fucking warning. :)

The day Andy has to leave isn't a good day. Remington has loved having him around, and has felt so protected with the man. He watches the taxi go and then gets back on the bus, sighing, and sits on the sofa. These next few months are going to feel like forever, and not in the good way. He just has to get through it, to try and enjoy it, to smile, laugh, be the cheerful front man everyone wants him to be. But what if he isn't that?

He looks at his phone, at all the comments under the posts about the show they cancelled because he was so tired. He is such a let down. He had posted about it the next day, after sleeping for the whole evening and right through the night. He did feel better when he wasn't so tired.

I'm so fucking sorry, he had said, words can't explain how terrible I feel about letting so many of you down.

It's true. Words really cannot describe how utterly awful he feels about the whole thing. He shouldn't be feeling so guilty about it, because it wasn't even his fault, but he is, and that's the problem.

He also sees how much hate the two people who made Sebatsian wake him up are getting, and he feels like that's his fault, too. He should have just sucked it up and hugged everyone like they always say they will.

Sebastian feels awful. He should never have given in and woken Remington up just because those fucking stupid people were begging. It's his fault that Remington is feeling so down and it's his fault that that he isn't sleeping well. He's worried they're going to have to cancel more shows because of the lead singer being so exhausted all the time. It shows; that he isn't getting enough sleep. His skin is white, his eyes look hollow, heavy, and the amount of makeup he has to wear just to cover it up is scarily similar to the makeup he used to wear when Holly was giving him black eyes.

They did an interview yesterday, before the show. The interviewer knew nothing about them and the whole thing was just so time-wasting. "How did you guys meet?" She had asked, oblivious to something that she should have found out before the interview.

"We're brothers," Remington answered, smiling to hide his annoyance.

"Really? You know, that's funny, because you don't look like you're related." Now, that's not something they hear very often. Or ever.

Sebastian looked amused. "Oh? Now, that's funny. Everyone says we do look related."

The interviewer laughed. "See, you and Emerson look similar, but Remington-I don't know-you just look different. "

Remington had taken that as an insult. Of course he did. After everything Holly has said to him, that sounded like an insult, and he can't look at it any other way. He wonders what she meant. Different how? More makeup? Different hair? Thinner?

After the interview he sat in the green room scraping his wrists until Emerson had pulled his hands apart and kept hold of one while he was on the phone with Shy. Remington thought back to the conversation he had had with Andy about his wrists.

"I can't help it," he had told the man, looking down at the red skin and sighing. "I don't even know I'm doing it most of the time."

Andy was holding his hands, running his fingers over the boy's wrists gently. "Does it hurt to touch?" He had pushed down then, and Remington winced. "That's a yes, then. Doesn't it hurt when you're scratching?"

Remington nodded. "Yes, but only when I realise I'm doing it, which isn't often." He let Andy observe his wrists, feeling quiet happy about the man caring so much as to take time to talk about it.

Over the time that Andy was with them, Remington's wrists had been much less irritated, since Andy was there most of the time to keep his hands apart. But now Andy's gone, no one holds his hands at night, and he keeps making himself bleed by accident. He doesn't want to tell his brother about it because it makes him feel so pathetic, and anyway, he can handle it. He is handling it.

He wears bracelets, but they don't really help, and he doesn't want to worry anyone by bandaging his arms up. If he does that they'll think he's self harming, which he isn't. Not intentionally, anyway.

On stage tonight, he tries to enjoy himself, he really does, but it just doesn't feel as fun anymore. Why isn't it fun anymore? He hopes no one in the audience senses that he isn't enjoying himself as much as usual, because then they'd not have so much fun, either, and that doesn't need to happen. All he wants is for his fans to have fun, to go home smiling because it was a great night.

Meeting fans after goes quite well, which is nice. He's given plenty of drawings and letters and, of course, more jars of Nutella, which he probably won't eat. He hasn't really been eating anything recently. He's surprised his brother's haven't noticed yet, specially since he had to swap a small hoodie for an extra small out of their merch box today. All of his clothes are just a bit too big. It's not like he's intentionally not eating, it's just that he forgets, and when he's reminded, he isn't in the mood for eating anything. The most he has is a sandwhich or an apple, and it's starting to become a problem of being constantly weary because of not having enough to eat.

He just doesn't have it in him to mention this to his brothers.