Help Me (sequel to Save Me)

Chapter 88

Trigger warning.

Hope I'm not annoying you by updating so much??

Andy runs Remington a bath once they get home, and sits downstairs while the boy is in the water. He calls Emerson, to try and get to the bottom of why Remington was left alone in the pouring rain in nothing but a thin shirt and skinny jeans. He's upset that Emerson would leave Remington at the side of the road like that.

"Hi, Andy," the drummer answers, "what's up?"

"I've just driven 40 miles to pick up Remington, who was sitting at the side of the road, crying and freezing cold. What the hell, Emerson, how could you just leave him there?"

Emerson sighs. He had driven home full of regrets at what he said to Remington, but it didn't cross his mind that leaving him on the side of the road was wrong. "I'm sorry, Andy, we got into a fight and I snapped, I guess."

The man rolls his eyes. "I don't care if you snapped, Emerson, he's fragile and you can't just leave him like that! I mean-right by the side of a main road? Are you serious? He could've jumped in front of a bus!" He doesn't mean for his voice to raise, but this makes him angry. Emerson knows damn well that Remington can't control himself if his suicidal thoughts return.

"What was I meant to do? He literally screamed at me to pull over. He threatened to jump out of the moving car. Would you rather that happened?"

"You turn on child lock, assure him that he's okay, and drive him home, to me. You don't leave him by the road. You just don't!" Andy lowers his voice. He doesn't want Remington to hear him shouting and get scared of him, too. "What was the fight about?"

Emerson sighs, again. "Remington was upset because I didn't tell him I proposed to Shy and, well, basically I blamed him for having anorexia and said it's his fault that he keeps lying to people and then he asked me to pull over, and I did."

Andy can't believe this. "What the hell? Why would you do that? He's fragile, Emerson, saying shit like that can really fuck him up. And it's not his fault. None of this is his fault." He hears Remington call him from the bathroom. "Look, Emerson, I've got to go. I'll talk to Remington, see if he'll talk to you, but you can never say shit like that to him again. You'll lose his trust completely."

"Okay. I'm sorry, Andy, I really am. I didn't want to hurt him."

"I know."

"Andy!" The shout seems desperate, and Andy ascends the stairs. In the bathroom, Remington is sitting in the bath with a stupid, adorable grin, like a child who's just been caught drawing on the walls.

"What?"

The boy reaches his arms out. "Towel," he demands, and Andy raises an eyebrow.

"Since you asked so nicely," Andy teases, grabbing a towel from the heated rail. "Cuddles?"

Remington carefully gets out of the tub. "You know me well," he says, as Andy wraps him in the towel.

"Glad you noticed. Do you want to tell me what happened with Emerson?"

Shrugging, the younger follows Andy into the bedroom. "Do I have to?" He sits on the bed and falls onto his back.

Andy sits next to him, traces the tattoos on his chest. "No, but it'd make us both feel better." He frowns at the sight of some new cuts on his hips.

"I will tell you, but after cuddles." He yawns rolls onto his front.

The older smiles and stands up. "Here, your onesie. I'm going to make dinner."

"Ugh, not dinner," Remington whines, "I'm not hungry." It's a flat out lie and they both know it, but he can't stop himself from saying it.

"Come down when you're dressed, beautiful, and we can talk about those cuts on your hip."

Remington sits up. He doesn't look at his hips because he knows exactly what Andy is talking about. "Okay, fine, but only 'cause it's you." His onesie is thrown at him.

"Good," Andy says, and kisses his lover's head.

Once Remington is in the onesie, he keeps it unzipped, because he feels surprisingly okay about himself today, and because he likes it when Andy traces his tattoos, and goes downstairs.

Andy is chopping up carrots for soup, and smiles at Remington, who sits himself on the counter and watches. "How was Sebastian?"

The boy reaches for a piece of carrot, which, of course, Andy gives to him. "He seems alright. Better than I expected." Remington eats the small piece of carrot and watches Andy tip everything into a pan. "The cuts," he begins, and pauses, thinking of what to say. "Last night, when you were sleeping, I had another nightmare and you-you didn't wake up, so I didn't really know what to do. I thought it might make me feel better. Obviously it didn't, so..."

Picking up the kettle and filling it with water, Andy talks. "What did you use? I thought we got rid of all the razors."

The question makes Remington uncomfortable. He looks down. "We did." His voice is suddenly small. "Mostly."

Andy clicks the kettle on and turns to look at his husband, sitting on the counter in a pink onesie with a guilty face. "Mostly?"

The boy sighs and nods. "I kept one, hid it in the back of my phone. I know it's stupid, I just-the thought of never being able to cut kinda freaked me out." He daren't look up, too scared to see Andy's disappointed expression.

"You need to tell me this stuff, sweetheart, can you give me the razor? Please?"

Remington gives Andy his phone. "'s in there," he mumbles, "that's not the only thing I've kept from you."