Help Me (sequel to Save Me)

Chapter 95

Trigger warning. I apologise in advance but it only gets worse from here. What did you expect from me? :)

The man at checkout gives Remington concerned glances when the boy puts two bottles of diet pills on the counter. "Are you sure you want these?" He asks, scanning the items.

"Yes," Remington answers bluntly, handing over a ten pound note and picking up the containers. He shoves them to the bottom of his bag and walks home without the intention of showing anyone those pills. He wants to be pretty and he's only pretty when he's thin, and with Andy making him eat every meal time and not letting him go to the bathroom alone, this is the only way.

And he doesn't care if it kills him.

Being pretty and dead is better than being ugly and alive. Maybe Holly would have loved him if he had just stopped eating. Maybe she would never have hurt him at all.

"Good walk?" Andy asks as Remington is kicking his shoes off.

Remington nods, smiles, keeps hold of his bag so Andy doesn't take it. "Yep. Who's car is in the drive?"

"What? Oh, Lonny's stopped by for a bit. Go say hello. He's in the garden I think." He doesn't look at Remington long enough to notice his shifty, guilty expression.

Nodding again, Remington turns towards the stairs. "I will, I just need to finish the letter I was writing to Sebastian." That's a lie, and Andy doesn't realise. It's such a deadly thing; ignorance. Remington goes up the stairs and into their room, so he's out of Andy's sight, and takes the pill bottles out, putting them on he bed beside him. He looks at them for a moment, picks one up, unscrews the lid, and tips some into his hand. The pills are white and shiny and he doesn't bother reading the instructions. He reaches for the glass of water and swallows three of the tablets down at once, closing his eyes and gulping.

The boy hides the bottles in one of his socks at the very back of the drawer and leaves the room. The moment he steps over the threshold, it's like he forgets what he's just done. Or at least he tries to.

Andy and Lonny are sitting in the garden with glasses of lemonade, and send the singer smiles when he joins them. "Hey," Lonny greets, "did you fix things with your brother?"

Remington picks up Andy's glass and sips his drink. "Yeah, turns out Andy was right." He hands the lemonade back, and mumbles, "as usual," in a humoured tone. Both Lonny and Andy laugh, and Remington lets himself giggle, like he didn't just take three diet pills despite already being underweight.

"We were just talking about you," Andy says, and Remington raises an eyebrow.

"Right?"

"Lonny was asking about your clothes," he explains, "your jumpsuits, in particular."

Remington smiles. "Oh, right, they're from Dickies (idk if this is true but I have two jumpsuits from Dickies and they're the best things in the world.) The sizes are fucked up but the quality is great."

The bassist hums. "I need to get one. Or a few," he says with a laughs, "you wore one on your wedding, didn't you?"

"Yep. Suits are not my thing at all. I could wear jumpsuits all day, but normal suits? Hell no! Drink," he demands, holding out his hand for the lemonade again.

Andy chuckles and hands him the glass. "I love your jumpsuits," he says, "you okay? You seem shaky."

Remington shrugs. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just didn't sleep so well 's all." That's not a complete lie. He didn't sleep well. But then he never really sleeps well.

A day passes. Remington takes two pills in the evening and three the next morning, always when Andy is downstairs and out of sight. He wonders how long he'll be able to keep taking them before Andy starts to suspect something is going on. He knows the man will, because he always does. He's so good at that; at knowing when something is wrong, even if Remington doesn't realise something is wrong.

And Remington is good at that; at convincing himself that nothing is wrong when really he's driving himself off the edge of the cliff. He's good at lying about serious things, and for that, he thanks Holly.

Remington sits opposite Abigail and doesn't tell her. "I've been eating at every meal," he says, with pride, missing out the key reason that he's been able to eat at every meal.

"That's great," Abigail congratulates, "how've you been finding the idea of gaining weight?"

The boy sighs, to make himself seem convincingly sad, even though he isn't gaining any weight. "Scary, but also I'm kinda excited-excited to be healthy again." He's lying straight to her face now, and the worst thing is that he can't even stop. He couldn't tell her the truth even if he wanted to.

But then he visits Sebastian, and Emerson can't some, and he says everything. He can't keep it all in anymore, and his big brother has a way of getting things out of him without even meaning to.

"Everyone thinks I'm recovering, Sebby, but I'm not," he says, softly so no one overhears.

Sebastian looks at him, confused. "What do you mean, you're not?"

Remington looks away, and then back at his brother. "I've been taking diet pills," he says, for the first time, out loud.

"What? Diet pills? Remington, really?" The guitarist doesn't know how to react. He can't do anything from where he is. He can't even give Remington a hug.

"Yes, diet pills. Because I can't-I can't gain weight, Sebby, or I'll die!"

"You'll die if you keep losing weight!"

"So what? So what if I die? Who even cares at this point?" He looks down, regretting saying anything.

Sebastian shakes his head. "So many people, bub. Please tell someone. I need you to tell someone."

"I told you. Isn't that enough?"

"No. I can't help you from in jail, Remington. You need to tell someone. Andy, or Abigail, or Emerson. Just someone."

Remington has a stern, harsh expression. "No. I'm fine."

"Yeah, sure you are."