^ A photo from the Palaye show tonight! It's blurry, I apologise

Trigger Warning: Mentions of abuse, depression, self-harm, PTSD, eating disorder/weight

Remington was still in hospital on Tuesday, so Abigail came in for their session, sat on the couch with a notebook and a pen. "Afternoon, Remington," she said.

"Hi," Remington quietly returned.

"It's good to see you. How're you doing?"

He shrugged. "Talked to my brothers."

"Yeah? How'd that go?"

"Emerson apologised for being a dick. Sebastian walked out. He's still mad."

"Sebastian's the older one?"

Remington nodded.

"How'd you feel about it now?"

"I don't know. Happy Emerson saw sense. Sad Sebastian didn't. But I gave up on him caring a long time ago, so..." He shrugged, playing with the edge of his bandage. "Honestly I kinda forgot he was my brother for a while."

Abigail hummed. "That must have been really upsetting. It's so important to have family and friends to lean on when you're in a bad place."

"I suppose."

"You don't agree?"

There was an annoying itch beneath the bandage. "I don't know what they could have done to help."

"Okay, let's explore that. What would you have wanted them to do if they had been willing?"

Remington shrugged again. "Just been nice, I guess. I don't know. But even then, even if they were the nicest people in the world, they still couldn't have made me feel better."

"Why's that?"

"Because no one could."

"Do you still feel that way now?"

"A little. Like...what's the point in accepting help if I'll end up back here anyway?"

"By back here, what are you referring to?"

"Just...here. The hospital."

"You fear that no matter what other people do to help, you'll end up relapsing?"

He nodded.

"That's an understandable fear to have, Remington. When you're at a point where you see no way out, it can often feel pointless trying to find one."

"No, there is one," he said.

"Okay, what's that?"

He pulled fraying threads from the bandage. "Just...Die."

"Is that something you've been thinking about a lot recently?"

"No, I...I mean, I guess, but not in the...not in the I wanna kill myself way. Just, like, in the wouldn't it be so much easier to just die right now way." Wrapping the thread around his finger, he added, "They thought I attempted suicide."

"The doctors?"

"Yeah. Because of my arm. I cut it." It was a surprise for him to say it, and a surprise for Abigail to hear it so soon into their session.

"Were you intending on harming yourself to the point of hospitalization?"

Remington shook his head, unwrapped the thread from his finger. "No. No, I...I just didn't know how to, like, not do it."

"Okay. And do you regret it now?"

"Yes. Sort of. But I felt better after."

"In what way?"

"I could go to sleep after. Couldn't before."

"How often do you hurt yourself, Remington?"

"Every night. Before bed. Always."

"So it's become a routine for you."

Remington nodded. It felt unfair, blaming Holly's rules on himself.

"How about while you've been here?"

"There's nothing sharp."

"And how has your sleeping been?"

"It hasn't."

"Okay. This is definitely something we can work on. I'll help you find some ways to better cope with your urges, how does that sound?"

"Impossible."

"It might seem like that now, and that's okay. This is all about slowly progressing, not moving too fast. We don't want to throw too much at you all at once, it'll just overwhelm you."

"I'm already overwhelmed."

"I know, and that's why it's important we take time to work through each thing that's troubling you. I'd like to discuss how you're feeling about going home tomorrow. Are you okay with that?"

"I don't want to go home."

"Is there any particular reason?"

He curled the thread into a loop on the palm of his hand, mumbled, "Gotta eat at home."

"Eating's very hard at the moment, I gather."

"Yes. Very hard."

"Is that because you're worried about your weight, or is there another reason?"

"I'm not allowed."

"Tell me in what way, you're not allowed."

He turned his hand over and the thread landed on the duvet. He picked it up. "Just not."

"What happens when you try and eat something?"

"I just can't. My brain says no, my hands won't move, I can't."

"A mental blockage," Abigail said. "How are you feeling about being tube fed at the moment?"

"It's fine. It's not me doing the feeding, so..."

"Okay. So it's not the food that's the problem, but the fact that you have to be responsible for eating it. Would you say that's accurate?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, Remington, it's great you can be so honest about this. You're doing really well. Can you talk me through your plans after leaving tomorrow?"

"My plans?"

She nodded. "For example, where are you going to go?"

"I don't know, home, I suppose,"

"Is it just you at home?"

"Uh, yeah. Just, uh, just me."

"How do you feel about living on your own?"

He shrugged.

"From a scale of one to ten, if ten were being absolutely terrified and one were being completely calm?"

"Maybe nine."

"Would that number lower if you were to stay with someone for a bit?"

Remington shook his head. "Got no one to stay with," he said sadly.

"What about you're friend Andy?"

"No, he's... He's done too much, I can't force myself into his house, too."

Abigail recalled the conversation she had with Andy, knew he'd welcome Remington with open arms. "I encourage you to ask him about it."

"I don't wanna be a burden."

"There's nothing wrong with reaching out for help when you need it, and it doesn't make you a burden at all. I don't think you should be living on your own while you're struggling this much, it wouldn't be fair on you. You need and deserve someone to give you a little TLC."

"Really?"

"Of course. You're not expected to continue your life as though you're fine if you're not."

He yawned. "Promise?"

"I promise."

"Okay. I'll ask him."