Trigger Warning: Mentions of depression, abuse, eating disorder/weight, death

Remington was sat on the windowsill, which doubled as a bench, when Andy finally went up to make sure he was okay. He acknowledged the man with the turn of his head, but said nothing. Andy sat on the bed. "I'm sorry I let that happen," he said. Remington didn't understand why he sounded guilty or why he was apologising. 

"Not your fault," he replied quietly. He was looking out the window, watching those below him. The cars on the street, the people, all oblivious to his suffering, and he oblivious to theirs. "I'm fine now." 

"You don't have to say it if you're not." 

Remington didn't look at him when he spoke, because if he did, he feared he'd cry. "He's always gonna hate me," he said. The words had been running circles in his mind for days. 

"That's not true." 

"It is." 

Andy reached for the book on the bed, held it in his lap. "He's just worried." 

Remington shook his head. There was a woman on the pavement with a bouquet of supermarket flowers. He wondered who they were for. "Doubt it," he said. "He doesn't do worry." 

"He's your brother, of course he's worried." Andy realised how hypocritical that sounded. After telling Sebastian being brothers had nothing to do with it, he didn't know why he said it. It was true. Being brothers had nothing to do with it. You don't have to be related to someone to see they need help. You just need eyes. 

Remington moved, swiveled around so he was facing Andy. "He's not." 

Not what, Andy wanted to say. Not your brother, or not worried? 

"He doesn't...if I'm broken, he isn't willing to fix me. Too much effort, and he's too selfish." 

"You're not broken." 

"I am," Remington insisted, but his voice remained soft, lacking the strength to sound convincing. He turned his head towards the window again. "I feel everything and nothing." 

It was an interesting way to put it and it made Andy think. He was having a hard time trying to understand what was going on in the singer's head and somehow, him saying that only made it more difficult. 

"She said pain is good. Makes me human. Makes me normal. Everyone needs pain." 

Andy didn't know where he was going, but could tell he was going to continue. 

"Pain makes me easier to fix, that's what she said. 'Can't fix you without a bit of pain.' You know, like that saying. No pain, no gain. Like studying for an exam. The more work you do, the better the outcome. Same with pain. The more pain you feel, the better you end up. It's simple. You need pain to appreciate life." He followed a car with his eyes, mumbled, "No pain, no gain." 

"You know that's not true," Andy told him. "Pain isn't good, or helpful. It just hurts." 

"Hurting is the point." 

"The point?" 

"Yes. Of being alive. Hurting is the point." 

"She told you that?" 

"Yes, but it's true. She knows these things." 

Andy shook his head. "She knew nothing." 

"That's not true." 

"You can't live by her fucked up beliefs, Remington, they'll ruin you." 

"She's fixing me." 

Stop talking about her like she's still around. "No, she was slowly killing you." 

Remington was quiet for at least half a minute. "No," he eventually said. "That was because I'm not...Strong enough." 

"Fuck me," Andy whispered. "She's gone now. You don't need to live by anything she said. She's gone." 

"Never gone," Remington said, more to himself than to Andy. "Never going 'till I'm fixed."

"You're not broken." 

Getting off the windowsill, the younger shook his head, muttered, "You know nothing." 

"She nearly killed you, Remington. She wasn't fixing you." 

"Yes," he said with a firmness Andy hadn't heard from him before. "Because I'm past the point of fixing. Death is kind." 

Andy shook his head. Something had changed in the way Remington was acting and speaking. He didn't seem scared anymore, but like he had given up trying to get past it. Like he was still living in that house with her, still obedient to her every word. "Death is horrible." 

"No." 

"You were going to let her kill you." 

"No." He was stood by the window now. "No. Not let her. But I couldn't stop it. It was easy." 

"Easy? It was easy?" 

"Yes. Easy." 

"How?" 

"Death is kind," Remington said, repeating his earlier words. "Death is kind, Andy. Death can't hurt you." 

"Can't hurt you? Remington, you'd be dead. She was going to hurt you so much that you'd be dead. Death is not kind." 

"Kinder than life." He shrugged as though it wasn't a big deal, as though it was obvious. "Kinder than anything else." Looking at Andy, he added, "Some people aren't supposed to experience life." 

"Are you serious?" 

"Some people need death like others need water." 

"And you're one of them?" 

Remington shrugged. "Might be," he said carelessly. 

Andy had so much he wanted to say, so much he should have said, but he stayed quiet. There was a sense of dread embedded so deeply into him that he had the urge to pick up the phone and call 999 right then and there, to tell them he needed an ambulance because his friend was out of his mind, but he knew that wasn't the reason.

Remington wasn't out of his mind. He'd been numbed into being mindless, and now, he was finally in his mind. Like Sebastian's visit had shoved him back inside and forced the gates to slam behind him.

He had gotten through the last two years because she had pulled him out of his mind, had kept him far enough away that the pain was blurry and distant, the fear contained. 

It was contained, of course, in the mind that he had just entered.