Trigger Warnings: Mentions of depression, abuse, eating disorder/weight, injury/blood

The night wasn't kind to Remington. 

He was overwhelmed with emotions and with guilt. Everything she had said, all the rules she had made, he was going against it all. It felt utterly wrong, and when he woke for the second time at around two am, he seriously considered pulling those wires out and going back to her. The only thing that stopped him was that he didn't know how to take the feeding tube out. 

Andy had gone home in the late evening and wouldn't be back until the following afternoon, since he had to talk to his band mates about postponing the studio sessions for at least a few days, probably longer. Remington felt guilty about that, too. It was bad enough, messing up his own life, but messing up Andy's seemed like a step too far. 

Hell, he hadn't seen the man for literal years, and the last time they spoke it was because they were breaking up. What right did he have to bleed all over his studio and cry about his own problems as though Andy actually cared? It was stupid of him to get so carried away. He never should have agreed to the song in the first place, what was he thinking? 

He wasn't, that was the issue, and what she said often. You never think, you just do. 

Of course, she was right. 

By the morning, he was no less exhausted than the night before, and when a nurse came to check on him and ask how he felt, he burst into tears, and the fact that he was crying only made him cry harder. The nurse attempted to comfort him, but he didn't want the pity, didn't want to be in this room anymore, tied to the bed with this stupid tube. 

His phone rung at around ten, and seeing it was his band's manager, he answered. "Ah, good," she said when he picked up. "Morning, Remington." 

"Morning." 

"So...I've heard some...stories from your brothers. Care to explain?" 

"What stories?" 

"Well, that you're in hospital and refusing to talk about it." 

He wanted to hang up and call Sebastian, yell at him for being such a fucking cunt all the time. "That's not exactly what happened," he said. "Look, it's...it's complicated." 

"I'm waiting." 

"I collapsed," he told her simply. 

"Why?" 

"Does it matter why?" 

"Yes." 

"I..." He was already tearing up for the second time since waking. "Stuff happened, I collapsed, now I'm in hospital. I'll be fine in a week or whatever." 

"Stuff happened is not a good enough reason, Remington. You have a band to commit to, a song to record with Black Veil Brides, a tour to prepare for. You can't dismiss it all with stuff happened." 

Remington blinked angrily. "It's personal." 

"Why did you collapse?" 

"I just did, alright?" 

"Remington-" 

"I don't have to tell you anything, be grateful I even fucking answered!" 

"Hey, I don't appreciate you raising your voice at me. Just explain what happened and we'll be good." 

"I have!" 

She sighed down the phone. 

"I have, alright? I have. What else do you want me to say? You want some elaborate story about how I was pushed down the stairs, or bashed over the head? Fine, there, whatever. I was bashed over the head and pushed down the stairs, I collapsed, I'm in hospital. Now back the fuck off." 

"Remington, you can't lie about this, not when your career is on the line." 

He thought about throwing the phone at the wall. "Well I lied to everyone every day for two fucking years, so go figure!" He promptly hung up and sobbed almost as soon as the line went dead. 

His phone rang less than twenty minutes later and his big brother's name was on the screen, but he couldn't bring himself to ignore it because of the way Holly would react if he ever did that to her. She had dragged him into the shower and made him watch as she smashed his phone to pieces. Then, she passed him the razor and smiled as he bled. It was the last time he ever ignored her call, no matter where he was. So many nights on tour had been ruined by her calling, but it was better, he figured, than the punishment he'd be in for if he didn't answer. 

Of course, he got the punishment anyway. 

"Why the fuck did you have to be so rude to Nadya?" Sebastian asked as soon as he answered the phone.

Remington was still on the edge of tears, and weakly said, "I'm sorry." 

"Are you trying to fuck up our band or what? Look, I know you're going through a thing, but for the love of God, stop being so selfish. We all go through shit, not just you." 

"I know." 

"Like, if you'd have just fucking eaten, none of this would be happening. You ever thought of that?" 

You should be a therapist. 

"Just...don't fuck it up for me, Remington. I've worked hard on this band, I'm not having you ruin it all. So deal with your shit and don't piss anyone else off, alright? And listen, I'm sorry for what she did, but it doesn't give you the right to act like no one else matters."

"Okay." 

"And stop talking to Andy, too, would you? I told you when you were together, he's no good. All looks, no brain. I bet he doesn't even write his own lyrics, just sings whatever he's given." 

"No, he's-" 

"I don't care," Sebastian interrupted. "He broke your heart once, don't think he won't do it again. I'm just saying. As your big brother, I have a duty to protect, and Andy, he's not good for you. He's so...eh. Honestly, you can do so much better. I mean, at least Holly was interesting." 

Yeah. Interesting. "Okay," he mumbled. "Thanks for the advice."