Help Me (sequel to Save Me)

Chapter 52

Trigger warning. I'm sorry :( (but also what did you expect from me??)

Today is the day. Remington and Andy. Andy and Remington. Today it will be made official.

Emerson and Sebastian flew in last night and are staying in a hotel Andy booked for them. They're only staying for two nights, just to be here for the wedding, because this is Remington and Andy's time. Both of them are so happy that their brother isn't relying on them like he was for so long. It took a toll on them having to constantly be checking on him and making sure he wasn't overdosing or slicing at his arms.

Andy is getting ready in CC's hotel room since it's supposedly bad luck to see one's partner before the wedding. He doesn't really believe that, but it's nice for Remington to spend time with his brothers before they go home. He isn't sure exactly what Remington is going to wear. The boy had been stressing about it last night, and Andy kept assuring him that he can wear what he wants; it's his wedding. He doesn't care if he wears a suit or not. Remington always looks beautiful. Even in tracksuits he's beautiful. Even with his hair messy, his eyes red from crying, he's beautiful. He'll never not be.

For a good hour or so, Remington sits in front of a mirror and does his makeup, but once he's finished, he looks at himself, shakes his head, and decides not to wear any. He doesn't need to. So he wipes off all the makeup, smiles at his reflection, and nods in satisfaction. He doesn't need to hide himself. But then the smile falls from his face as he catches sight of his scar, and he can't look away.

It's like all his walls crash down suddenly. He doesn't know what triggers it, what makes it happen, but he can't stop it. He isn't in control anymore.

And it's just his luck that there's a pair of sharp silver scissors on the side.

Remington grabs them, spins them around in his hand, looks back at his reflection in the mirror. He is so fucking ugly. And Holly was right. He was raped and it's his fault. He thinks about Andy, about the wedding, about everything.

The scissors are shiny, sharp. So sharp.

His brothers are just in the other room, but he knows he can keep quiet. Just a few cuts, cover them up, pretend nothing happened. It's fine. He's fine. He takes in a breath, exhales, and holds the blade of the scissors against his hip. No one will see it there.

(This is quite visual and descriptive. Please read with caution and know I always answer messages. Stay safe.)

Grinding his teeth and holding his breath, Remington pushes the metal into his skin and drags slowly over his hip bone, holding a handful of tissues against it to avoid making a mess. He feels the cool metal as it tears his skin, and wonders if this will leave scars. No one can know about this. It's just a blip. That's what he tells himself. He just needs to hurt. It makes him feel alive.

But what if he doesn't want to be alive?

No, don't think like that. I'm happy!

The tissues over the cut, Remington presses the scissors against his skin again, just above his bone, and drags quickly this time, sucking in a sharp breath and screwing his eyes shut. God, it hurts. But it feels so good. The silver is red now, and Remington thinks it's pretty. He wishes he was pretty, and he wishes Andy was here.

If the man was here then this wouldn't he happening. Maybe he's selfish, but he doesn't want to talk to his brothers about it, not after leaning on them like he did for so many months. They don't need that. If Andy was here then he would have crawled into his arms and told him that he wanted to hurt himself, and Andy would have told him that it's okay, that he's okay.

Why the fuck is this happening now?

The cuts are deep, but luckily they stop bleeding after a good ten minutes of holding tissue against them. They hurt to touch. He routes around for plasters and finds some that are too small, but uses them anyway. He remembers how Andy said they could go skinny dipping tonight to celebrate since Remington isn't keen on having a party. Crowds of people freak him out, which is ironic considering his job. How is he going to be able to take his clothes off now? Any will see and then he'll have to tell him what happened and the whole holiday will be ruined. Just because he can't fucking handle his own fucking emotions.

He looks down at the wounds. The plasters barely cover them at all. They're so ugly. He's made himself so ugly.

"Remington?" Emerson calls through the door, "are you dressed?"

The boy panics. He wipes the scissors with the tissues and puts them back where he found them. "No, I got distracted," he says, and technically it is the truth. He did get distracted "I'll be ready soon." He picks up the clothes he's decided to wear. He doesn't want to wear a suit. The outfit is nice. He likes it. At least his clothes look nice.

He struggles to step into the jumpsuit because his hip stings and every time he moves it's like someone's digging nails into him. The mirror isn't kind to him. He's going to have to put makeup on now, because his eyes are red from tears he hadn't realised where even there.

Twenty minutes later, he opens the door dressed in a black jumpsuit, and clean, polished Doc Marten's. His eyes are masked with red eyeshadow and black eyeliner, and no one would ever know what he did to himself.

And that's how it's going to stay.