Help Me (sequel to Save Me)

Chapter 62

Trigger warning. Please be careful. This was hard to write.

Death seems like the only relief.

Remington doesn't know what he's doing. He thought he was getting better. He stopped taking his pills again.

The street is empty and dark, and Remington walks without knowing where he's going. Just somewhere.

He had an awful fight with Sebastian today. They were meant to be doing a livestream, but Sebastian kept commenting on the younger's weight, and it made Remington uneasy. He knows he's still underweight, but he really is trying. Sometimes food just makes him feel sick. Remington had shouted at him, screamed, and thrown his phone violently at the wall so hard it shattered, and he never went home.

He wasn't in the mood to talk about it, not with Andy, not anyone. He knew that if he went home then he'd have been asked about it because Sebastian would have called Andy. He knows that his husband will be trying to find him, but his phone is in pieces in his brother's house and he doesn't want to be found.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

It's bad again.

His previously healing wrists are raw and bloody and his fingertips trail red down his face, over his clothes. He's not in town anymore. He can hear water rushing somewhere nearby, and wonders what would happen if he jumped into the river, or drowned himself like Holly tried to do. Would anyone miss him?

He knows they would, but manages to convince himself otherwise. Why does his brain keep letting him down like this?

Is it because he stopped taking his stupid pills? Or is it just that he's permanently fucked up, destined for a life of misery, until he hangs himself from a rope on a tree, or slices until there's no more blood, or jumps off a bridge and disappears with a splash.

Who would miss him?

Nothing feels real. He doesn't turn his head at the sound of people behind him, probably drunk, or in the midst of getting drunk. Or both.

The river is getting nearer now. He can almost feel the water on his skin, seeping into every scar and drowning him from the inside. He rubs his eyes, feels hot tears, but doesn't care.

It's bad again.

It's really fucking bad.

What if he can't be saved this time? What if this is it? And what if he wants it to be?

"I can't even look at you," he hears Holly say, and shivers, pulling the hoodie sleeves over his hands. "Look what you've done!" He remembers how she was angry at him, but he doesn't remember what for. It could have been anything. She was always angry about something. His existence, mostly.

He's cold, freezing, in his clothes, and wishes he'd taken one of Andy's jackets when he left this morning. Maybe he'd feel okay if he had Andy's jacket protecting him. Maybe he'd feel better then.

It's getting harder to see through tears and through the looming darkness of the sleeping world. Everyone is in bed now. Warm, safe. Not Remington, who has never felt so cold before. Not ever.

Is this what it feels like to be empty?

Is this what it's like to have nothing left?

Is this death approaching?

He wants it to be.

But he also wants to go home, to curl up in Andy's safe arms and tell him what's wrong, to be loved, to be protected, to be happy. He wants to be happy, but he knows that will never be the case. Not in this lifetime, anyway. Happiness isn't meant for him. Nothing nice is meant for him.