Remington is answering some more questions in the little booklet when the doorbell rings. He waits a moment and when no one answers, he stands up. Emerson and Shy must've gone out.

Standing on the other side of the door is a woman he's never met. She looks strangely familiar. "Remington?"

The singer is confused. How does she know who he is? "Yes? Can I help you?" He is contemplating just closing the door in her face.

"Yes, you can help me. I'm Genevieve Gulls," she states. He knows that surname. God, he knows that surname way too well. "I need to hear your side of the story." Her voice is kind, soft. Nothing like her daughter.

"I'm sorry?"

Genevieve looks very patient. "Holly is in jail and I need to hear your side of the story. She has the tendency to lie."

Remington doesn't know what to do. He's never met this woman before. He was with Holly for six years and never once met her parents. Odd. "Come in," he mumbles, stepping aside. Why did he just let her in?

The woman sits in the dining room. "I'm sorry to burst in on you, Remington, I know I have no right to do this. I just need to know the truth."

The boy perches on a chair and avoids looking at her. "What truth?" He asks, even know he knows damn well what she's on about.

"What she really did. Why she's locked up. I need to know." Remington gulps. He can't think about it. "I understand that it's a touchy subject for you. Please don't put yourself under pressure for me. I could give you my number and you tell me when you're ready."

How is such a heartless person related to this lovely, considerate woman? "I can't think about it," he admits, "not without being sick." Remington gets his phone out. "Here, make a contact for yourself, just-just please don't include your last name. I can't look at it." Even though he is terrified of telling strangers what happened, he needs Genevieve to see how much Holly has impacted him.

The woman types in her number. "I understand, Remington, I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I've put it under Genevieve, I hope that's okay." She hands him his phone back.

Remington has to check to make sure the name isn't linked to Holly before he is satisfied. "Thankyou for being so patient," he says, "your daughter was anything but that." He mumbles the last bit, involuntarily shivering at the thought of Holly.

"I hope you are willing to get to know me as Genevieve and not as Holly's mother. We are nothing alike." She stands up. "Thankyou for your time, Remington, take care."

The singer watches as she leaves the house and then falls down onto the sofa with a heavy sigh.

Why is Genevieve so nice, yet Holly is so cruel? What went wrong?

Emerson and Shy return in the evening when Remington is watching television. They all cuddle on the sofa and at some point fall asleep.

Just like every other night, Remington bolts up and straight to the bin, emptying his stomach and groaning in annoyance. He is so tired of this.

Once he's woken up properly he realises that they slept the whole night on the sofa. The boy can't help but laugh to himself bitterly.

He willingly slept on the sofa.

After throwing up and brushing his teeth, the boy takes his pain killers and decides he's going to brave the shower again.

He waits for Emerson to wake up and asks him to sit in the bathroom while he showers to make sure he doesn't throw himself at the wall or something.

Like last time, Remington makes his brother turn the dial, and like last time, he has to force himself to keep his eyes open.

He washes his hair as quickly as he possibly can and steps out of the shower before he has the chance to close his eyes. Emerson turns the water off and congratulates is brother on managing.

Remington can't stop thinking about Genevieve. He doesn't understand how Holly is so indescribably mean yet her mother seems sweet and considerate and caring. What's her father like?

He doesn't think he wants to know.

In the evening, Remington decides to text her. What's the worst that could happen?

Hey. It's Remington.

Oh hello Remington.

I'm not ready to talk about what she did but I just thought I'd tell you that I really appreciate how understanding you're being.

It's no problem. From what I've heard, Holly treated you like shit. I'd hate to continue that. You don't deserve that at all.

Thankyou so much.

Thank you for messaging me. Have a good night.

Satisfied and fairly happy, the boy crawls into bed and flicks the light off. He prays to the god he doesn't believe in that he doesn't have a nightmare. He swears that if he's sick one more time blood will come up.

Unfortunately, however, Remington does have a bad dream. He is terrified, and wakes up shaking. He can hardly breathe.

The nightmare was worse then usual.

She was claiming him all over again. He felt it all again.

Remington knows he's having a panic attack. He doesn't know how to deal with it. He can't breathe.

The man kicks the covers off his thin body and heavily stands up, having to grab the headboard to keep himself from toppling over.

He holds a hand to his stomach, which for some reason feels like it's burning, and stumbles out of the room and straight across the hall to his brother's bedroom.

He feels terrible for waking them but desperately needs help.

Remington tries to talk but nothing comes out. He shakes Emerson until the man opens his eyes. "Remington?"

The singer gasps for air. "Can't-can't-" he tries, not managing to form a sentence.

Emerson quickly gets out of bed and guides his brother out of the room and into the bathroom. He makes Remington sit on the toilet seat with his hands on his shoulders. "Breathe with me, in and out," the younger instructs, emphasising his breaths. Remington holds his stomach and inhales. "You're okay, you're alright, just keep breathing."

After nearly ten minutes of this, Remington has calmed down. "Can you-can you lay with me please? Just until I fall asleep?" His question is barely a whisper. He can still feel her hands on him.

"Yeah, yeah of course. Come on," the younger reassures, helping his best friend to his feet. "Bad dream?"

Remington nods. "Terrible, Emerson, fucking terrible. At least I wasn't sick though," he mumbles, trying to find a positive.

The two lie down under the covers in Remington's bed. "Is it always the same nightmare?" Emerson queries, bringing his brother into his arms to comfort him. He feels the older trembling against him.

"Similar, mostly. She's always there. Sometimes she's hurting me, threatening me. Sometimes I'm in that hotel again. Tonight she was-" he can't say it. He knows Emerson will understand what he means. "I'm sorry for waking you, Em, I was so scared."

Emerson frowns. "No, no, you did the right thing. I don't want you to deal with panic attacks on your own. I don't want you to deal with any of this shit on your own." He can tell Remington is falling asleep.

"Thank you," the singer mutters, and soon he's sleeping.

Even though Remington said he only had to lay with him until he fell asleep, Emerson doesn't go anywhere. He feels better knowing that, if the boy wakes with another nightmare, he'll be right there to help.