Trigger warnings: Mentions of eating disorders, self harm, suicide, substance abuse

I promise there'll be some cute chapters soon to make up for all this sadness :) Also I painted Kyan (the original character based off Remington from this series) and it's on my Instagram (@tessart747) and my TikTom (@Tessaknowles747) if you wanna check it out. Ok bye

After hearing Remington cry to her about Emerson, Abigail takes it upon herself to get to the bottom of the situation to eliminate as much stress as she can from the singer's already-stressful life.

Today, she wakes beside Remington, who asked her to stay in the bed with him since he was fearful of having nightmares. He said he could feel them before they came sometimes, and while Abigail wasn't convinced it was the nightmares he could 'feel', per-say, she stayed none-the-less, because it'd be stupid not to.

The boy is flat out asleep when she gets up at just past nine, so she quietly leaves the room and goes down to continue looking for a new job while she waits for Remington, who later joins her. She looks up from her laptop screen, smiles. He rubs his eyes, yawns. Abigail makes him tea and asks if he slept okay. He mumbles a response while still half-asleep, sipping the hot drink and hoping, in some fantastic turn of events, she's forgotten about breakfast. That's not the case, of course.

"I don't want it," he says, pushing the plate away.

Abigail sighs. "I know, but you need it."

"No I don't."

"Remington, doll, look. I know it's hard all the time, I do, but your disorder is lying to you. You need food and you know you do, even if you wish you didn't."

"Great, so now not even my own fucking brain can be bothered to be honest with me. Isn't that fantastic. How many people need to fucking lie to me before I lose it? Honestly, I would love to know." He rubs his eyes harshly, so he's seeing double for a couple of seconds after. "I mean-fuck, I thought it was bad enough having Andy lie about drugs and Emerson lie about whatever the fuck he's fucking doing and Marcus lie about every fucking thing, but now apparently even my own thoughts are lying to me, so that's just wonderful! I'm so fucking delighted by that fucking delightful fucking news!" He hits the table. "Thank fucking God I'm stable enough to deal with it," he goes on sarcastically, "at least I'm not already stressing the fuck out because everything that could go wrong in my life is going fucking wrong! Like-like everyone fucking hates me 'cause I can't just be fuckin' normal and my own fucking brothers are so sick of me that they're making a joke out of my whole fuckin' life, but at least I've got the capacity to deal with that like a man, right? And who cares if Andy's on drugs because as long as he doesn't have to deal with me all the time, he's happy! Who fuckin' cares! Not me! Why would I care? Why would it bother me at all that he's merrily screwing his life up just to stop thinking about all the stupid fucking shit I keep doing? It doesn't bother me at all!"

Abigail tries to cut in but he doesn't give her room.

"And I keep trying to get all of it out, y'know, so it doesn't eat me the fuck up, which, by the way, is more than I could ever fucking do considering I can't even eat a fucking piece of fucking toast anymore! But it doesn't fucking matter how many times I fucking say it, or how much I cry, it doesn't work! And every time I think something's finally getting better, my fantastic brain which I love so much decides it's time for level nine fucking million of 'screwing Remington's head up'! And now I feel shit for shouting at you because you've literally done nothing to deserve it, or anything I fucking put you through, but if I say sorry I'll be told I've nothing to be sorry for, so I guess I'll just go and fucking hang myself because once that's done, I won't be alive to apologise no fucking more!

"And here's the fantastic thing, right! No matter what I fucking do or say, you'll all say it's a fucking breakdown, so how am I supposed to communicate how I feel? Because every time I try, Abi, every fucking time, this fucking happens! This happens and I can't think enough to say what I wanna fucking say and it makes me so fucking sick of being in this fucking brain all the time! Like-like why do I have to be the mental one? Why me? Who decided that was a good idea?" He hits the table again. "And it's not like I'm trying to make this worse, either! It's not like I woke up and decided today I was gonna sit here and yell at you just because you happen to be here and I need someone to yell at! I don't wanna be like this! I don't wanna not have control of myself! It's not fair! And, not that you can fucking tell, but I'm trying to fucking stop fucking yelling, yet I fucking can't! I literally fucking can't! And I know what you're gonna say! Take a nice deep breath, Remington, it's all okay, Remington! Is it, though? Is it really all fucking okay, huh? Because I don't fucking know what okay looks like to you, but this is not my idea of being fucking okay! That looks more like not having a mental whatever-the-fuck-this-is over a piece of toast that everyone else in the fucking world can eat without making a big fucking song and fucking dance about! Like-fucking hell, what is happening?" He drops his head onto the table and grabs at his hair with both hands. "Don't say anything 'cause I will actually lose it."