Help Me (sequel to Save Me)

Chapter 127

Trigger warning. Sorry :))
Palaye Royale: Excited to announce that we're touring in three months!! Tickets on sale on Wednesday. Can't wait to hug you all x

Remington finds the tweet funny. He doesn't want to hug anyone except for Andy, Sebastian, and Abigail. As much as he isn't looking forward to touring, he know he can't let that get across to the fans. They have to believe he's excited.

Remington Leith: Go get your tickets now!!! I missed you!!!! see you in three months

He puts his phone down and sighs, looking towards the door of the coffee shop where he's waiting for Emerson. He asked for them to meet because he wants things between them to be okay before they begin tour. It would be a nightmare to be in the bus with the drummer for months if he can't talk to him.

Emerson's already ten minutes late, and Remington texts him.
Where are you??

He gets no reply, and picks up the coffee he ordered. It's a black coffee, no milk, no sugar. Since Andy got rid of the diet pills, he's been trying to find ways to lose weight without being obvious. So far he's been cutting out milk and sugar in drinks, and refusing to eat bread and pasta. The fact that he can't help himself from doing it is more scary than the idea of going back to hospital. He always told himself that he could stop if he wanted to, but that's not true. He can't stop. He's addicted, the way Sebastian was addicted to alcohol. It's like there's no way out. This is it.

Where the fuck are you??

He types out the message angrily and sends it, putting his phone down violently and thinking about just going home. His mind wanders to what he had for lunch, just half an hour ago. Salmon and potatoes. He had struggled to eat it all, uneasy with the fact that there were no diet pills in him. After thinking about it for a few minutes, he checks his phone once more, gulps down the rest of the coffee, and stands up. The bathroom is at the back of the cafe, and he locks the door, turning the taps as far as they go and rolling his sleeves up. He's learned how to do it without gagging to loud since he was doing it at home everyday after Greece.

Remington kneels by the toilet, tucks his necklaces under his hoodie, and leans forwards as his fingers go down his throat. What Andy won't know can't hurt him.

It's so satisfying; the way it hurts, and how it feels as it comes up. Remington breathes out in relief when he's done, knowing there's nothing left inside, and flushes the toilet. He washes his hands and his face and swishes water in his mouth, spitting it into the sink and turning the taps off.

There's a red mark on his knuckle, where teeth scraped skin, and he smiles at it, because he likes it. It's a reminder that his food is gone, that he will be thin. He will.

Remington flushes the toilet again to make sure there's no trace of it, and unlocks the door. He opens it and freezes.

"You were doing it, weren't you?" Emerson asks accusingly. He's been standing by the door since he got here and saw Remington wasn't at a table. The sound of the taps running was an obvious warning sign.

The boy pulls his sleeves over his hands. "Doing what?"

"Don't play dumb with me. You know what. I can't believe you."

Remington looks down, plays with his fingers. "I'm sorry," he whispers, "it just happened."

Emerson rolls his eyes. "It just happened? Oh, so I guess you had no control over your body, then?"

The fact that that is pretty much what happened makes Remington feel so stupid. "I'm sorry," he says again.

"I thought you were getting better."

Remington knows he's being accused of lying and he hates it. All Holly would do was accuse him of lying after making him lie. "I am," he insists, "I am."

"Really?" Emerson asks, not believing his brother for a second. "We're going on tour in three months and you're still doing this. I don't know what to say to you if I'm honest, Remington."

"Good. Don't say anything." The boy tries to step past Emerson, but is stopped.

"Why do you even do it?" The question is so rude and it makes Remington feel so worthless.

He shrugs. What's the point of answering when Emerson will only shame him for it? "I don't know."

Emerson shakes his head dissaprovingly. "Do you know how dangerous it is?"

Remington would roll his eyes, but is too ashamed to do so. Of course he knows how dangerous it is. It doesn't mean he'll just stop doing it, though. That's not how it works. "Let me go home," he tries, "please,"

"Are you gonna tell Andy?"

Remington shrugs. He knows there are people watching them. He feels observed and he hates it. It makes him shake.

"You're so useless sometimes, you know?"

"Gee, thanks. That makes me feel so much better. Did it ever occur to you that I might be having a shit fucking day and I just need some fucking looking after?" Someone, no older than seventeen, taps him on the shoulder, and he looks at them, agitated. "Yes?" It's as soon as he's said that that he notices the Palaye Royale logo on their hoodie, and tries to calm down.

The teenager looks nervous, which is no surprise. "Can I get a picture with you?" He asks.

Remington feels like he's about to have a panic attack. "Sure," he says, tries to smile. He makes the face he makes in ever picture with a fan and forces himself to breathe. He feels the way he did when he collapsed outside that venue. The picture is taken and the stranger thanks him. Remington holds a hand to his head in an attempt to steady himself. "Emerson," he stutters, "help."

Despite the angry conversation they just had, Emerson doesn't hesitate, and helps his brother towards an empty table. He sits the boy in a chair. "You need to eat something," he says, "or you're gonna collapse."

"I can't," Remington repsponds, head on the table.

Emerson sighs heavily, beginning to see how hard this is for his brother. He hadn't really realised how much of a struggle it is for Remington. He thought the boy was being dramatic. "Do you want Andy? I can call him."

"Please."

The drummer picks up his phone and finds Andy's contact, and is relieved when the man picks up. "Hey, are you able to come down to the coffee shop? Remington made himself sick in the bathroom and he's about to faint. I don't know what to do." He hangs up once Andy has said he's coming, and looks at Remington with regret. He never should have said anything about his eating. It's obviously making it worse.

Andy turns up soon, and manages to get Remington to eat half a container of salad they have at the counter. He sits with his husband for twenty minutes, until he isn't feeling so dizzy, and takes him home, walking slowly and glancing at him every so often. At home, he makes Remington a hot chocolate with lots of milk and sugar, and the boy accepts it because he hates feeling like he's about to collapse, and because he knows deep down that Andy's doing the right thing by making him drink it. He wishes he could just get rid of the fucking disorder before tour starts

User 1: Saw @Remingtonleith and @Emersonbarrett today. Got a pic with Remington. He nearly collapsed right after I took this, and I saw @Andyblack wth him a few minutes later. He was basically feeding him. I don't wanna be the one to start this rumour, but anorexia? Remington has anorexia?