In group therapy, Remington sits with his legs crossed and his hands in his lap, listening to what the others are saying but not talking himself. He's been distancing himself from everyone because he's scared of being shouted at again. He still hasn't talked to Dr Johnson about the argument, and though he knows he has to, he just feels so stupid. But he promised Andy and he can't let the man down.

It's getting increasingly difficult to be in the bedroom when Johnathon is there, because he's so frightened of being shouted at again, and doesn't dare do anything that makes a noise. But worse than that, it is so distressing how much this reminds him of what it was like to live with Holly, how much it feels like he's living those years again. He feels trapped. He shouldn't feel trapped. He should feel safe here. But he doesn't, not with Johnathon in the same room.

God, he remembers so vividly how she'd hurt him if he ever disturbed her. When he was sick, he had woken in the night and not managed to get to the bathroom in time before throwing up, and Holly had held him down in the bed on his back until he was sick again. He choked and spluttered until she got off him. Then she shouted at him for making a mess.

Remington spent so long just sat in the corner shaking and crying when he lived with her. He never wants to feel like that again.

Once group therapy is over, the boy walks straight to Dr Johnson's office and knocks on the door. He doesn't care that he doesn't have therapy until tomorrow, he needs to talk about this now. "Yes?" He hears from inside, and opens the door. "Remington, can I help you?"

The boy is on edge. He can't get the image of himself choking on puke out of his head. "I need to talk to you," he says desperately, "now."

"Come and sit down. I don't have very long but there's time for you to tell me what's bothering you."

Remington steps into the room and closes the door behind him, perching on the chair. "Johnathon is scaring me," he says. "We had an argument and he shouted at me even though he promised he wouldn't and I had a hallucination and when I'm in the room with him it feels like I'm in a room with Holly and I'm so scared of making noise because when I made noise around Holly she hurt me or shouted at me and I keep having flashbacks and-"

"Remington, take a deep breath," the doctor interrupts, watching as the boy inhales and exhales slowly. "I'm glad you came to tell me about this, and I'll make sure that this is sorted out, okay?"

Nodding, the boy is relieved to have gotten it off his chest. He's learning, slowly, that asking for help is okay. "If he shouts at me again I don't know if I could handle it," he mumbles.

Dr Johnson can hear the weakness in Remington's voice. "You come here straight away if that happens, alright." The words calm the singer, and the therapist talks again. "I've got a session in two minutes, so you need to go. Take it easy tonight and do not be afraid of making noise. It's your room just as much as it's his. If he shouts at you that is not your fault. Come straight to me if you feel unsafe."

Remington stands up. "Thank you," he says quietly, "I will." He leaves to room happier, though still on edge, and walks down the corridor to his bedroom. In the room, Johnathon is sat on his bed reading a book, but when Remington pays attention to the book, he realises it's his notebook. The one filled with his thoughts, his song lyrics, his fears; everything. He can't believe his eyes. What the hell is Johnathon doing? "What the fuck," is all he manages to say, eyes tearing up at the thought of the man reading what he's written. So much inside that book exposes things that only Abigail knows. "What the hell are you fucking doing?" He practically shouts, snatching the notebook from the man and hugging it to his chest.

"I'm trying to understand you," Johnathon states, "because you're so fucking hard to be friends with. One minute you're laughing, the next you're screaming at someone who isn't even fucking there!" He sounds so accusing, so rude.

The poor boy doesn't know how to respond to this. He feels so violated, so betrayed, so beyond hurt. "I hate you!" Remington screams, "oh my god, oh my god, why would you do this? Why would you?" He is yelling now, tears dripping down his pale cheeks, and jumps at the sound of the door opening.

A doctor has been alerted by the noise and has come to check what's going on.

Remington is in distress. He doesn't know how to handle this. He never ever thought that Jonathan would be as horrible as to read his notebook. The doctor takes him straight to Dr Johnson, who makes his current patient leave so he can calm Remington down. It's a rule here that no one who is having a panic attack, or a breakdown, or anything similar, has to wait for their designated slot before they're able to talk to their therapist.

"Focus on your breathing for me, in and out, and remember; you are safe here." His voice is soothing, calming. He sits quietly while the boy takes deep breaths, noticing how much he's shaking. "What happened?" He asks after a few minutes.

With a heavy sigh, Remington answers. "He was-he was reading my notebook." There is so much sadness in his voice. It hurts him so much.

Dr Johnson frowns. That is such a violation to Remington's privacy and safety. "Thats is not okay," he says, "Remington, I'm going to send you home."

The boy looks up at this. "What?"

"I've noticed how uneasy this place makes you and I understand that not everyone recovers in the same way. I think you do better when you're with your brothers and your boyfriend and I believe that it's in our best interest that you go home. You will still need regular therapy, whether that's with me or someone else, and you will be brought back here if you start having suicidal thoughts again."

Remington rubs his eyes. "I can really go home?"

The therapist nods. "Yeah. I'm going to get it all sorted out for tomorrow morning, alright?" He sees how much happier Remington looks after receiving this news.

The singer is so relieved. "Thank you so much," he says, "can I sleep in a different room tonight?"

"Absolutely. I'll get that sorted out for you."