Remington drives himself to therapy the next day, the radio turned all the way up as a way to drown out the real world. The music bounces around the vehicle.

Once he arrives at the familiar house, he rings the doorbell and waits, suddenly very anxious. Abigail opens the door and welcomes him in, having just moved the sofa into the position he feels more comfortable with. She quickly grew accustomed to the fact that he can't talk openly if he's looking right at her, or is she's looking right at him, so she moves the furniture just for him every week.

The boy sits on the couch and takes his shoes off so he can curl his legs up underneath him. He waits for Abigail to talk first.

"How has your week been?" She asks, taking the notebook from him like usual so she can read through his thoughts.

Remington sighs. "No great, to be honest," he answers softly, "I feel so guilty about cancelling tour." He watches as she flips through the recent pages.

Abigail nods in understanding. "Do you regret it?"

The boy shakes his head. "No. I was so unhappy and being in the bus with Alexis was so unsettling. It was definitely the right thing to do, but I feel so bad because our fans still don't know about anything that's happened." He twists his rings around on his fingers. "I just feel a bit useless."

The therapist hands the book back. "How have you been finding the medication?" 

Remington shuffles in his seat. "I-I haven't been taking it," he mumbles, ashamed. 

Abigail makes sure not to sound like she's telling him off. "Is there a reason why?"

The boy looks at his lap. "I don't like them," he says simply. He feels attacked by the question, like it's wrong that he isn't taking them.

"Why not?"

"They make me feel weird," he explains, tears welling in his eyes for some reason. "And-and it makes me feel like I'm going fucking crazy, because taking the pills means accepting that there is something wrong with me." The singer rubs his eyes and sucks in a breath, not sure why he is basically crying but not having the strength to stop. "God, I'm sorry."

Abigail pours him a glass of water. "It's alright, Remington, it's okay to cry." She hands him the water. "This is a safe place. You say whatever you need to say and we'll work through it, alright. It's important that you're honest."

Remington sips the water, grateful that he didn't have to ask for it, and thankful that she is being so gentle. "I feel like whatever I say, I'm always wrong." He looks at his lap and exhales. "And if no one tells me that I'm not wrong, then I really do believe that I am. All the time." The boy goes quiet. He waits for Abigail to talk.

"Is this because of Holly?" She already knows the answer. Of course it's because of Holly. But she needs Remington to admit it, to understand that it isn't his fault, that he isn't to blame.

He looks up at her. "I don't know," he mumbles.

Abigail picks something up from the table. "Alright Remington, I don't think you're being honest with yourself. I want you to take some time in the next week to read this and just have a good think about the questions at the end. There's no need to answer them, just have a think, and we'll talk about it next week."

The boy takes the paper. "Okay," he whispers, and puts the empty glass on the table. "Sorry."

"No. Stop it. You are not in the wrong. You've never been in the wrong."

Those words hit Remington way harder than he expects, and he bursts into tears, bringing his hands up to his face.

Abigail knows not to touch him. She stays where she is. "I understand that it's really difficult for you to believe it, Remington, but you need to understand that you have never been in the wrong. Never."

With a shake of the head, the vulnerable boy looks at his therapist. "Can I-can you give me a hug?"

The woman is surprised by the request. "Of course," she says warmly, standing up.

Remington is hesitant. He stands up and looks at her with teary eyes, and then steps closer and is encased in her arms. And he isn't scared. He feels safe.

He can hug her.

He closes his eyes and inhales. "I'm not scared," he murmurs, "I'm not scared of hugging you."

Abigail is cautious about startling him. This is the first time he's ever let her touch him at all. "how does it feel?"

"Overwhelming," he admits, "I thought I wasn't going to be able to hug anyone ever again. This is just-wow."

"This is a huge step forwards," Abigail congratulates, "I'm proud of you."

They separate the embrace and sit back down where they were before. Remington is feeling so much better now. "What do I do about the medication?" He asks, still not keen on taking it.

"I highly recommend taking it, Remington. It will really help you with your anxiety. But if you really don't want to, and I won't make you, then you need to have someone you can talk to whenever your anxiety gets bad. Dealing with it alone is not going to do you any good." She has a feeling that he won't be taking them.

Remington sighs. "Sebastian, I can talk to Sebastian about it."

"Okay. Make sure you tell him as soon as you get home. You've done so well today. I'll see you next week."

The boy nods and puts his shoes on. "Thank you for being so understanding," he says, "it's nice to know that someone cares."