Help Me (sequel to Save Me)

Chapter 96

Trigger warning. :)

Emerson,
I didn't want you to find out like this and I'm sorry that I'm the one telling you, but I'm worried Remington won't tell anyone. When he visited me today, he told me he's taking diet pills. I don't know how many or for how long but I need you to help him, please. Tell Andy if you don't want to confront him, but please make sure he gets help. He seemed kind of lost when he was talking to me. I don't know. I'm worried. You know how he gets when he keeps stuff inside. I wish I was there to help but I'm not and I really need to know that you'll help him. I need to know that I will come home in four months and not be attending by little brother's funeral. I wish I didn't have to say that but we both know that happening isn't exactly impossible at this point.
Maybe he should be put in an eating disorder recovery centre or something, to keep him safe until he's not so underweight? I wonder if he can be sent to one of those against his will. As much as I hate to think about forcing him to do something, Em, I think that would really help. It would at least stop him from getting any worse. Stop him from dying.
I'm sorry this letter is so depressing but I needed to tell you because I need to know Remington is okay.
I hope you can visit me next week.
I love you.
Sebastian

The letter seems heavy in Emerson's hands. He doesn't know what to do with that information. Sure; he's thankful for Sebastian telling him, but what does he do? Should he call Andy, or maybe Abigail? Or should he talk to Remington himself? An eating disorder recovery centre doesn't seem like such a bad idea. though Emerson does remember how, last time Remington was in some sort of recovery centre, he ended up basically getting worse.

"I think my brother's trying to die," he says, out loud, to Shy, who looks up with a confused face.

"What? Sebastian?"

Emerson looks back at the letter in his hand, at the words diet pills, how they're written in Sebastian's careful writing. He writes how he talks; gentle, careful, full of love that some people don't deserve. "No, not Sebastian." He doesn't need to say Remington's name, and saying it makes it more scary. "Apparently he's taking diet pills and he won't tell anyone. He won't even tell Abigail, and he tells her everything." He's agitated, which is understandable, and sad at the thought of his best friend doing this to himself without having anyone to talk to about it.

Shy is saddened. Remington is like a brother to her. "Talk to him," she says, short and simple, and confident. Emerson needs her to be confident, because he isn't. He isn't confident that Remington will be okay. He isn't confident that Remington will even still be alive by the time Sebastian is out of prison.

"I don't know if I can. Last time I tried we ended up in a huge fight. I think if that happened again he'd actually overdose." He sits with his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands, worry painted all over his face, like a child who's left with a paintbrush and an empty wall. Out of control. That's what Remington is; out of control. So out of control he thinks everything is under control. So lost he thinks he knows exactly where he is.

"You don't have much faith in him, do you?"

"It's hard to have faith in him when he keeps nearly dying. Let's not forget he's already collapsed at least twice because of eating, or not eating."

"Just talk to him," she says again, "what else are you gonna do?"

Emerson sighs heavily, like the news is physically tiring. "I don't know. Tell Andy?" He looks up his fiancée and sighs again. "God, Shy, I don't know. Help me."

The woman isn't sure what to say. She doesn't want to be held responsible for another argument. "Look, you can either talk to him, or get someone else to talk to him, but it's probably going to end with an argument either way, because he's got a disorder which makes it impossible for him to see how dangerous his actions are. He'll be defensive, Em, but surely an argument is better than another trip to hospital?"

"But what if the argument means another trip to hospital?" Emerson digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I don't want him and Andy to fight, but I don't think I can handle another argument with him. I'll call Andy. Remington would probably come here if they fight badly, so he should be okay."

"Okay."

So Emerson picks up his phone and dials Andy's number. The man picks up on the last ring. "Hi, Em," he greets, so blissfully unaware of the heart breaking news he's about to be told. Remington is sat beside him, book in hand, also blissfully unaware of the conversation he's about to have with Andy.

"Hey. Listen, I'm sorry I have to tell you this over the phone but I think you need to know." Not exactly a positive start. Andy stays quiet, waits for Emerson to continue, which he does. "I got a letter from Sebastian. Apparently when Rem visited him he told Sebastian he's been taking diet pills. I don't know anything apart from that but I'm worried. Please talk to him."

Andy has to stay calm so Remington doesn't ask what's wrong. "Okay. Thanks for telling me. I'll talk to him. Have a good day. I'll call you later."

"Thank you. I'm so sorry you had to find out like this."

"No, it's okay." He puts the phone down, looks at Remington with a concerned, thoughtful expression.

Remington looks up from his book, sensing the tension. "What?" He asks, confused at Andy's sudden seriousness. The man exhales. He pushes the book down into Remington's lap so the boy's attention is on him. Remington raises an eyebrow. "What?" He asks again, still not understanding what is going on. He's convinced himself he is so fine that the thought of starving himself being the reason for this doesn't even begin to cross his mind.

Andy hates that he has to be the one to say it, that Emerson dropped all of this onto his shoulders, like he doesn't have enough on his shoulders already. He looks briefly at the book in Remington's lap, at the boy's legs, how the sharp bones in his knees show through his jeans, which should be tight, but aren't. He looks back up at Remington's pale - too pale- face, and then straight ahead, so he doesn't have to see Remington's reaction as he says the words. He doesn't have to see his reaction to know what it'll be. "Diet pills," he says, "care to explain?"

All colour in the boy's face is completely drained.