Trigger warning but hardly :)

In group therapy today, Remington sits in the same chair as yesterday, wearing the only one of Andy's hoodies that he has with him, playing with his fingers in the sleeves that are too long for him. He knows Andy started buying bigger hoodies just because he likes them, and the thought almost makes him smile. Andy is always so thoughtful.

"Today we're gonna talk about the future."

Remington listens to the group leader talk. He doesn't want to talk about his future. His band is falling to pieces because of him, his husband probably hates him, and he hasn't hugged Emerson for nearly two months. Who cares about the future?

"Who would like to start us off and say something about the future that is perhaps scaring them?"

Someone puts their hand up. Remington doesn't lift his head up to see who it is. He waits for them to talk, intrugued suddenly by what they are going to say about their future.

"I'm scared of leaving here," she says, "because I have no where to go."

Damn, Remington thinks, I hadn't thought of that. What if no one wants me? I can't live on my own.

The girl goes on. "My mum said that she's disappointed in me because I tried to kill myself. She doesn't want me back."

Remington wonders how old she is. She sounds no older than fourteen. He looks up and it's clear she's only a child, and he can't imagine how scary it must be for her own mother to say that. "There are always people who love you," he says abruptly, shying away when everyone looks at him.

"Really?" The girl asks. She sounds so vulnerable.

The singer nods slowly. "Yeah. I used to think no one wanted me or needed me but everytime I was proven wrong. My brothers have never given up on me, even though I give them so many reasons to. And my husband has been with me through multiple relapses and suicide attempts and he's shown me that someone will always love you. You've just got to find the right people to be around." He feels stupid after talking and averts his gaze back into his lap.

The young girl seems surprised at Remington saying this, like no one has ever told her anything like that before. "My mum said she won't take me back until I'm 'better.' So i told her that she's never gonna get me back, then."

God, I know exactly how she feels. "You will recover."

"How do you know?"

Remington looks towards the group leader. "This is off topic," he says, "can I talk about my past for a minute?"

The leader smiles. "Go for it, Remington."

"Okay, well...Me ex girlfriend was physically abusive for three years, and at the end of the relationship she raped me and stabbed me. I thought I would be stuck having nightmares and awful panic attacks every day for the rest of my life. It was terrible. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't talk about it without being sick, I couldn't hug anyone apart from my brothers for months. But here I am, three years later, still suicidal, yes, but am I having nightmares every night? No. And I can hug my husband and his friends and my brother's girlfriends and it's okay. So you will recover. It might take a long time, but it will happen." When he stops talking the girl is looking at him thoughtfully, and Remington gives her a gentle smile, feeling like she might need it.

She smiles back. It's foreign for her to have someone being nice to her like this. "Really? You were raped?"

Remington still cringes at the word. "Yeah."

"I'm so sorry. That's awful."

"Remington's right, Kacey, recovery comes with time." The leader, a man in a grey polo shirt, looks from the singer to the girl. "How do you feel about recovery, Remington? How did you approach it?"

"I don't know," Remington answers, eyes still on the girl. "My brother convinced me to go to therapy. My therapist died so I had to find another one. She's the best. She lets me call her outside of sessions if I need to talk and is always there for me when I don't know who else to turn to. I honestly don't think I could've recoverd at all without her."

"Therapy? My mum said therapy is a waste of money."

"If you find the right therapist, it's worth every penny and more."

Once the session is over Remington walks with his head down out of the room, spinning around when someone taps his shoulder. It's the girl, with an almost guilty expression on her fair, freckeled face. "Hi," she no more than whispers.

Remington offers another smile. "Hi," he returns.

"What you said about being abused, can I...ask you about it?" She's hesitant, which isn't surprising, and Remington sympathises with her. He knows what it's like to be so unsure of oneself.

"Sure. You can come sit in my room if you want. I don't share with anyone."

"Why not?"

"Apparently I'm dangerous."

"Dangerous?"

The boy hums. "Yeah. It's a long story. I had a stalker who tried to rape me and attacked my husband and my brothers and threatened to kill my therapist. I killed him." I killed him.

"That's not dangerous. It's self defense."

Remington begins leading her down the hall. "I'm the least dangerous person, I promise. If I get scared I just cry. I shout sometimes, but I'd never hurt anyone, not after what my ex did. The stalker was her brother, so..."

She follows him, listening to what he has to say. "You've been through hell," she says, like it's obvious.

"That's one way to put it. Here, my room. I have to keep the door open if someone else is in here with me. You know, so I don't murder them." His joke makes her laugh and he knows straight away that she doesn't laugh often. "What do you wanna ask about my abuse? And you're called Kacey, right?"

"Yeah, Kacey."

"I'm Remington if you didn't catch it earlier."

Kacey nods. She sits on the bed beside him. "What's it feel like to be abused? Not physically, but like-in your head?"

Remington doesn't mind the question. Sometimes he doesn't mind talking about it. "It's like everything you thought you were is taken away from you and you become this shell of a person, controlled by the abuser, if that makes sense."

"That's a really poetic way to put it. You should write poems."

"I kinda do."

"Really?"

"I write songs. That's a form of poetry."

"Woah, that's so cool." She watches Remington straighten the photo on the besdside table. "Is abuse just when someone hits you?"

Remington shakes his head before she's even finished asking the question. "God, no. Abuse is when someone who should support you and love you makes you feel like less of a person. They insult you, or shout a lot, or make you do things you don't feel comfortable doing. Most scars you get from abuse are mental." He picks up the photo and looks at his family.

"My mum shouts at me all the time," Kacey tells him, "even when I haven't done anything wrong."

"Your mum sounds like a bitch. How come she sent you here?"

"I tried to overdose. She called me broken."

Putting the photo back down, Remington shakes his head, ashamed in the girl's mother. "You're not broken. She sounds like the broken one, saying all that shit to her daughter."

"Why are you here?"

"A lot fo reasons. For killing a man, mostly. And I'm anorexic and shit at dealing with it. I keep taking diet pills and nearly dying."

Kacey looks at him. "What's that?"

"Anorexia?"

She nods.

"Oh, it's an eating disorder. Makes me wanna starve myself because I think I'm fat even though really I know I'm not. Like even now, I look at myself and I see fat, and obviously there is no fat."

"You starved yourself?"

Remington just hums. "More than once, yeah."

"So you stopped eating, or..."

It's nice that she's asking, that she is genuinely interested. "Kind of. I tried to. But my husband is very observational and careful with me because of everything, so I started making myself sick so get rid of anything I'd eaten. I got addicted to it."

"Do you still do it?"

"If I could, I would. I get the craving all the time."

"You're so nice, you know? Like...you've been all this stuff and you're hapily telling me about it, and you don't even know me."

Remington smiles. "Well it looked like you needed a friend. I know what it's like to feel alone."

"My mum won't believe that I'm depressed."

"If it helps, I believe you."

"It does help, actually."

"You're a good kid, Kacey. I've got a visitor in five minutes so I should go, but if you wanna talk about anything, I'm a good listener."

Kacey stands up. "Thanks. I will. And for the record, you're cool."

"I know right? I keep telling my husband that but he won't believe me. See you later." He steps towards the door, waiting for her to leave the room before closing it and heading down the hall to the visiting area, smiling because he managed to talk about his abuse and his anorexia without freaking out.

He knows Abigail would be proud of him.