Trigger warning! Mentions of self harm, panic attacks, suicide, homophobic slurs, violence, non-con.

In the studio, Andy finds it harder than he'd like to admit to give his full attention to the band. With his guilt about Kacey on his mind, his worry because she still hasn't been found after running away six days ago, and his constant concern for Remington because of his ever unstable mental state, he isn't so able to properly focus, to give his mind completely to his band mates and to the music.

"You're very quiet today," Jake observes, while the men are sitting on the couches in the studio having lunch.

Andy shrugs and unscrews the lid from his bottle of water. "Rem's not doing so good, is all," he says, instead of the truth.

The guitarist is eating a sandwich. "Oh, okay. Is he alright?"

"Yeah, he'll be fine. Y'know how he gets. Spirals and comes out alright in the end. It's just-this time it seems worse." Another lie. It's not Remington who's spiralling. Not yet, anyway.

"You know you can always go home early if you're really worried."

Andy shrugs. "No, it's okay. He promised to call if he needed something. Don't worry about it." If only he could call Remington when he needed something.

Even after the short conversation with Andy, Jake isn't convinced. Usually, when Remington is spiralling, he goes home straight away, doesn't even consider staying for longer. So why not today?

Last night was worse than the ones before. A search party is out looking for Kacey and Andy can't stop imagining her, dead, somewhere alone. He closes his eyes and there she is. When he sleeps, there she is. Hanging from a tree of face down in a lake. Falling from a cliff or foaming at the mouth with an empty pill bottle somewhere in the forest. It's paranoia, he's sure of it. Guilt, regret, and paranoia. He should never have left her at the hostel.

Andy was sick last night. He'd worked himself into such a state that he was physically sick, retching into the toilet and surprised Remington hadn't heard him. But the bedroom door and the bathroom door were both closed and he made himself be quiet. Of course Remington didn't hear. The man had stayed there, on the floor and leaning against the toilet for quite some time, wondering, for brief moments, what it would be like to feel the cool slash of a blade across his skin. Maybe that would make it all go away.

Today, Remington takes himself shopping, looking through clothes to pass time and buying a few new pairs of skinny jeans. While he's walking home, just after five pm, someone taps his shoulder. The boy, alert, spins around, recognising the two people as David and Lucy, Emerson's so called friends. He ignores them and carries on walking, realising his mistake of leaving the centre of town after he's done it. He should have remembered they were homophobes before leaving the safety of strangers' eyes on them.

"Remington!" David calls, "pretty boy, Remington!"

"Leave me alone," Remington says in response, arms folded.

The man laughs. He's right behind Remington and the singer can hear him breathing. "Where might Remington be going?"

"Nowhere."

"Oh, come on. Give us something to enjoy!"

"No. Go away." He speeds up.

David grabs his shoulder and forces him to stop walking. "Don't say no to me," he taunts, suddenly terrifying, and snatches the bag Remington is carrying from his hand. "Now, what do we have here? Jeans? News check, fag, you look fat as fuck in jeans."

Remington tries to get his shopping back, hurt at the insults. "Leave me alone," he begs, "I've done nothing wrong."

"You're a faggot," David spits, "here, Lucy, take this!" The bag is hurled at the woman, who tips the contents out and starts trampling it. "Come on, Remington, it's fun, no?"

"No."

"You know, you should try kissing a girl. That's what men are supposed to do."

Remington kicks against David, trying to free himself. "No," he says again, "let go of me!"

"There's a girl right here! Kiss her!"

The singer shakes his head, pushes the man but is shoved in return and he knows he's way too weak to fight his way out. "No."

"Lucy, kiss him! Show him what a man is supposed to do!" His hand is gripping Remington's arm, pushing him around roughly. "Pucker up, slut."

Remington kicks and is only shoved again, harder this time, and the next time he's pushed, he ends up on the gravel path, hands scraping the stones. "Stop it," he cries, begging. "Please, stop!"

The woman, Lucy, is kneeling over him and Remington screams, but then she's pressing him down and kissing him and Remington is in hell. He hardly acknowledges the kicks to his ribs and then they're gone and he's left on the gravel with the taste of Holly in his mouth and her hands all over him.

It isn't until someone who Remington doesn't know is walking along the path that he gets up. He's helped off the gravel by a man who has a kind voice, sat on the grassy bank and asked what happened. Remington can't talk because Holly is still there and she won't leave. The man calls the police, tells them someone's been attacked, and then asks the trembling boy if there's anyone he wants. Remington hands the man his phone without any words, and all the stranger can think of doing is calling someone in his favourite contacts. He chooses the top one - Andy. He explains to Andy that he found Remington shaking and beaten up and tells the man where they are and that he called the police, and stays with the boy until the police turn up.

Andy arrives soon after the police, out of breath from running, and quickly explains who he is before wrapping Remington in his arms and repeating that he's safe now.

"Andy," Remington cries, falling into his securest form of safety and sobbing. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He sobs.

"You're okay, you're alright. I'm right here," the older comforts, wondering what the hell happened.

"She won't go!"

And she doesn't go, not for the rest of the night.