Help Me (sequel to Save Me)

Chapter 87

Trigger warning.

Remington watches his big brother sit down opposite him and Emerson, and sighs. He feels guilty because he didn't do what Sebastian asked him to do in the letter; he hasn't talked to Abigail or Andy about what's wrong. Sebastian looks different in the person clothes. Less like himself. It makes Remington sad to see him like this.

"Hey," the oldest brother says, hands on the table like they're told to do.

Emerson tries to smile. "How are you?"

"Considering the circumstances, not too bad." It's a relief to hear him say this, and to hear the hopefulness in his voice. Sebastian always has been the optimistic one. "Did you get the letters I wrote?"

The singer sinks into the chair. "Yep, thanks," he answers.

"How're things at home?"

The youngest shrugs. "Same old, really. Lots of drawing and shit. I proposed to Shy."

Remington sits up straight. "You did? Why didn't you tell me?" He feels betrayed, suddenly.

"I was going to but every time I wanted to something was wrong with you. You never seem to be paying attention."

The boy frowns and looks away. "Anorexia does that to you," he mumbles, knowing it isn't a good excuse.

"You have been talking about this stuff with Abigail, haven't you, bub?"

Remington hesitates, but then nods. "Of course I have. I'm not stupid."

Sebastian knows he shouldn't get into it here but he is worried. He can tell when Remington is lying, and so can Emerson. "Remington-"

"I'm fine."

"How's Andy?"

"Fine."

The man exchanges glances with Emerson, who just shakes his head. Remington doesn't like how they do this, how they have private, silent conversations without him. "How are you?"

"Fine." He doesn't even hesitate this time, doesn't even think about how he isn't fine, about how he had a nightmare last night where Andy pushed him in front of a train and laughed as he was ploughed down.

Sebastian gives up. He doesn't want to use up the twenty minutes they have arguing with Remington. "So you and Shy are engaged?" He looks at Emerson. He knows that talking about Remington will only make the boy more agitated than he already is.

Emerson nods. "Yeah."

"Congratulations."

In the car on the way home, the tension is thick. Emerson wants to ask why Remington isn't talking to anyone about whatever it is that's wrong, but knows that if he mentions it, Remington will most likely shout. Neither of them need that.

"I just can't believe you didn't tell me you got engaged," Remington says, breaking the silence.

Emerson sighs. "Look, I'm sorry, I just never found the right time."

"The right time? Anytime is the right time!"

"No, it's not, because there's always something going on with you. You're not eating, or you're lying to your husband, or trying to kill yourself, or pretending that you're fine when you're not."

Remington feels attacked. "That's not fair! You can't blame me for having an eating disorder. I didn't ask for it!" He wipes his eyes, angry with how easily he starts crying. He wants a hug, not to fight with his baby brother.

Emerson looks back at the road ahead of them. "Oh, you never do, though, do you?"

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Nothing is ever your fault, is it? You tried to kill yourself? Oh, let's blame your relationship with Holly! You stopped eating again? Must be anorexia! You keep lying to your husband? Anorexia! You cut yourself? Anorexia! You shout at us? Let me guess? Anorexia! I mean come on, Remington, not everything is because of some fucking eating disorder! Stop pretending like non of this is your fault! You're literally driving yourself to death, for god's sake, you need to stop!"

Remington unplugs his seatbelt. "Stop the car or I'm jumping out."

"What, Re-"

"PULL OVER!"

The car halts by the side of the road and Remington gets out, even though it's raining and he has no coat and home is 40 miles away. He watches Emerson drive off and pulls his sleeves over his hands, sitting on the wet, grassy bank and pulling his phone from his pocket. The rain is heavy and soaking right through his long sleeved shirt. He never wears t-shirts in public anymore, because of self harm scars and because he's so insecure about his arms being fat, even though they really aren't. Cars rush by and he knows no one will spare a second thought for the skinny man by the side of the road. He's alone.

He's shivering and sobbing as he prays that Andy picks up the phone. Luckily, he does. "Hi, princess. Hey, what's wrong?" It isn't difficult to know that something's wrong. The boy is sobbing down the phone.

Remington hugs his knees to his chest. "Can you come get me? Please?"

"Where are you, baby, are you okay? Are you hurt?"

The boy watches cars pass by. "I'll turn on my location. Need to talk to you later. Can you-can you bring your hoodie?" He sounds so vulnerable.

The sound of the cars passing by makes Andy anxious. He doesn't like the idea of Remington being on his own by a busy road. "Stay where you are, sweetheart, I'm coming."

"Thank you," the boy breathes, and hangs up. He turns on the devices location so Andy can find him and puts his phone back in his pocket, dropping his head between his knees and shielding his face from the cold rain. It drips down his neck and makes him shake. It takes nearly and hour for Andy to turn up, and he pulls up by the boy, getting out the car and offering his hands. Remington lets Andy pull him off the grass, and falls into the man in tears. "I'm sorry," he sobs, "this is all my fault! I'm sorry!"

Andy guides him into the passenger seat. "Shh, baby boy, it's okay."

Shivering and dripping wet, Remington wipes tears and rain from his face. "I just wanna go home," he says, hopeless.

Andy kisses his head and closes the door, walking quickly around the car and getting in. "Here, princess, put this on. You're freezing." He passes his husband the red hoodie, and Remington gratefully pulls it over his head. "What's going on? Why're you here?"

"Had a fight with Emerson," Remington mumbles in a flat tone, looking at his cold hands in his lap. "I'm sorry about-about lying to you."

"It's okay. I'm just worried about you. You know I only want to help, angel."

Remington pulls the hood up. "I just-I'm scared. Of everything."