Trigger warning

A nightmare wakes Remington up. He's in Abigail's driveway again, stabbing at the stalker, except it isn't the stalker, it's Andy, and he screams. He really screams. Remington jerks awake, pulling the covers up over his face and trying to muffle sudden sobs. Now is the time when he longs for Andy to be in bed with him.

A doctor comes in and gives him water and sits in the room until he's calmed down so he knows he isn't on his own. Remington does find that comforting. He lets himself cry. His mind is a mess of Holly and the stalker and the bloody knife in his hand and in his stomach and he feels like he's drowning and floating all at once. Like some gone wrong acid trip. He cries himself back to sleep, the doctor carefully moving him so he's lying down.

In the morning Remington wakes feeling breakable and in need of a hug. He nearly starts crying again when he realises he can't wear Andy's hoodie today because he's worn it for the past three days, and furiously wipes his eyes as he's getting dressed, not managing to stay away from the mirror hung on the wall as he does so. He's gaining weight. He just knows it. How could he not be? And the scar on his stomach is so fucking ugly. God, everything about him is so ugly.

Breakfast is hard. The people and the noise and the cereal in the bowl, glistening in milk, tormenting him. Remington sips the orange juice he's given and tries to tell himself that eating is the right thing to do, but the more he thinks about it, the worse he feels. After five minutes of just staring at the bowl, he's approached by the same doctor as last night, not bothering to look up at the man.

"Are you not feeling so good today?" The doctor asks, cautious about how he talks to Remington. He's seen how jumpy the boy gets.

Remington shakes his head. "I really-I really can't eat that, I'm gonna-I feel sick."

"Can you have just one spoonful?" He's crouching beside Remington's chair, mentally going over what he was told about the young man the day Remington got here. Anorexic. Abusive ex. Depression. Suicidal. PTSD. Dependent on family.

The boy shakes his head again. "I really can't," he answers, trying to keep his voice somewhat stable.

Dr Marlow looks at Remington's trembling hands. "How about you come with me and we can have a talk somewhere quiet, okay?"

Remington wipes his eyes and nods, pushing the bowl away and his chair back so he can stand up. He walks with the doctor out of the canteen and is lead into a small room with a soft, blanketed arm chair and a desk. He's told to sit in the armchair and does, bringing his knees up into his chest. "Do I still have to eat that?" He asks, pointing to the cereal the man puts down on the desk.

"Yeah, I can't let you skip breakfast. Or any meal, for that matter. There's no rush though. Why don't you tell me what's going on inside your head? It'll feel better to tell someone." After putting the bowl down, he pulls out the chair behind the desk and sits down.

"I just-I'm overwhelmed, I guess. I can't stop thinking about how I...killed someone, and-and I miss my brothers and my husband and-I-life's just hard." He hugs his knees and wishes he was hugging Andy. "Can I just have-like-ten minutes to calm down, and then I'll eat that?"

"Absolutely. Take your time. I can't leave you on your own in here but I'm happy for you to sit there while I do a bit of work."

Remington nods. He sits quietly for a good ten minutes, composing himself as best as he can and reassuring himself that it's okay to have breakfast. Dr Marlow hands him the bowl once he says he can eat it, and he slowly gets through the cereal, grateful for the man not looking at him.

After breakfast, Remington thanks Dr Marlow and goes back to his room, lying on his front on the bed and carrying on with the drawing he's been doing recently. He spends five minutes just looking at the photo of Andy that's stuck to the wall, remebering the visit yesterday and how much worse he feels today.

A knock on the door makes him jump. "Yeah?" He calls, wondering who it is as the door opens. "Oh, hi Kace."

The girl smiles sympathetically, like she knows how Remington is feeling. "Hi. I saw you leave breakfast this morning. I just wanted to check you're okay."

Remington sits up. "That's so kind. I'm having a bad day, but it's okay. How about you?"

"I don't like seeing you sad. I feel like I know you more than I really do."

Remington understands her. He feels the same. "I know. Here, come talk to me. Distract me from my thoughts for a bit."

Kacey leaves the door open like she knows she has to do and joins Remington on the bed, looking at the drawing for a moment. "Wow, that's so good! Are you an artsis?"

"God, no, that's all Emerson, my little brother. I just like to draw sometimes."

"Well I think you are an artist. That's incredible."

"You're sweet. Do you wanna do some drawing or something with me? They gave me an adult colouring book I haven't used." He yawns as Kacey answers, saying she loves colouring. Remington finds the book and a pack of felt tip pens they gave him to go with it, handing it to her and going back to his drawing. "You know, Kace, I've been here twice before."

The girl lies on her front beside him, flipping through the book for a page she likes. "Why?"

"The first time was because I told my therapist I was gonna crash my car if she let me go home, and the second time was because I tried to overdose. They might as well give me a permanent room at this point."

Kacey finds a page she likes and opens the pack of pens. "How come you can just tell me this stuff? Like-how can you just talk about it so easily?"

"Normally I can't. I spent months not telling anyone about my ex. I guess you're just special, huh?"

Remington's words make the girl smile. It's foreign for her to have the genuine attention of an adult like this. She's always been pushed to the side. But Remington is different. He cares. He's been through hell and somehow he still has a heart of gold and a mind of diamonds and he cares.

She thinks he's the best person in the world.