Trigger warning :)

Palaye Confessions: No. 176- Y'all really still be accusing Remington of not interacting with us enough? Can you not? Y'all saw his and Andy's posts yesterday and so you know that he's in hospital being fed through a tube, and people are calling him stupid for not controlling it better? Are you serious?! He has anorexia! It's a serious mental disorder that people DIE from, and you guys are tagging him in pictures saying how you don't think he's trying hard enough to beat it?? WHAT! THE! FUCK!

No matter how much he tries to ignore it, Remington can't keep himself from messing with the feeding tube taped to his face, only stopping when Abigail, who's come to talk to him, carefully pulls his hands away. "I don't need to be here," he insists, still in a bad mood.

With Remington's hands in her's to stop him from pulling at the tube, Abigail nods sympathetically. "Tell me why you think that."

"'cause I'm fine."

"Is that good fine or bad fine?"

Remington shrugs. He looks at his therapist and then down at his lap, covered by the hospital gown.

It isn't hard for Abigail to see how helpless he's feeling. "Tell me what happened the other day, Remington. Why'd you think you collapsed?"

"'cause my body is fucking fucked up," Remington answers dryly, knowing the real reason but not wanting to actually say it outloud. "And I was stressed."

"Your body isn't fucked up."

"Well something clearly is!" He looks down after his short outburst, realising he shouted and sighing, knowing Abigail doesn't deserve to be snapped at like that. It's not her fault that he's in a bad mood. "Sorry," he mumbles, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout."

Abigail seems unphased. She knows Remington well enough to understand that if he shouts at her it's not actually at her. "How about you tell me about your feelings? How've you been feeling recently?"

"Like I don't even know what's actually real half the time," is the boy's answer, and he leans back against the pillows behind him, hands still in Abigail's.

"Why's that?"

He shrugs.

"How've things been at home with Andy? Are you two managing okay?"

"We had a fight."

"A bad fight?"

"Kinda. I don't know. I'm confused. I know he's hurting and I feel bad for having problems too, y'know?"

The woman hums. She lets go of Remington's hands to straighten the tube and he rubs his eyes. "You're allowed to be hurting, too, Remington."

The boy doesn't know how to respond. Deep down, he knows she's right, but it's just hard to remember that now.

When Remington says nothing, Abigail takes his hands again. She doesn't talk. There's not need to.

Later on, after Abigail has gone and Andy is sitting in the room, Remington gets off the bed and goes into the little bathroom with his phone to take a mirror selfie, hospital gown and all. The face he makes doesn't at all communicate how he's feeling and when he looks at the picture to check it's okay he wants to cry because it's scary how he can make himself seem happy when he isn't. He can fool all his 300,000 followers into thinking he's okay and he finds that both scary and impressive at the same time.

Remington posts the photo on Instagram with the caption 'Livin' that hospital life. Comment something funny bcos I am boredddddd.'

Of course, as soon as it's posted, Andy sees it. He has Remington's post notifications turned on and is the sixth person to like it. The man frowns at the screen because Remington is making this whole thing into some sort of way to get likes on social media and he thinks it's worrying. Is he really not taking it seriously at all?

"Remington?" He speaks up, wondering if the younger is still not talking to him.

"What?" Remington returns, the response quick, angry.

Andy sighs. "You were doing so well. What happened?"

"Oh, I'm sorry I have an eating disorer. It must be awfully inconvinient for you."

That's a yes on still not talking to me, then, Andy thinks, and puts his phone down. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Guess I'm stupid, too, then? Awesome."

"Remington, come on, what is going on? Why are you so upset with me? I'm only trying to be here for you."

The boy huffs, starts playing with the tube. "Maybe I don't want you to be here for me," he fires back, ignoring the actual question.

"Talk to me. What's going on?"

"Nothing."

All Andy can do is sigh, again, and try and figure out what he's done to upset his husband so much. He really can't understand why.

Remington doesn't like Andy's silence and so he fills it. "Why are you even here? All you're doing is sitting there pestering me and having a go at me for everything. Why not just fucking leave?"

"I'm not gonna leave you here, Remington."

"Well then stop fucking nagging me!"

"I'm not nagging you. I'm wor-"

"Dont fucking say you're worried because I'll fucking scream."

Andy shakes his head, cofused. "I'm worried," he says, "because you're my husband and I love you and I care about you, okay? Whether you like it or not, I'm worried."

"Are you gonne rape me?"

The question leaves Andy shocked. "What?"

"You said whether you like it or not, so are you gonna rape me? Because-"

"Remingt-"

"No! Shush! Because when Holly raped me she didn't care if I wanted it or not, so...are you gonna rape me?"

Andy can't believe how Remington can escalate things. "Of course I'm not, sweetie. Why would you ever think that?"

"Great, now you're having a go at me!"

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are! You're having a go at me and you're gonna rape me! Why don't you just stab me while you're at it? There's a shower in there. That's pretty close to a bath."

"Remington, listen to yourself. Take a breath. You're throwing things way out of proportion."

The boy pulls the covers over him like he really does think his own husband would hurt him. "Stop having a go at me!" He shouts, like he's in a completely different conversation to the one Andy is having with him.

"I-"

"Stop!"

Andy goes quiet. He knows that if he carries on talking after Remington tells him to stop then the boy will probably scream and give himself a panic attack.

"I want you," Remington says, "to go."

Andy does.