Can we all take a moment to realise that the dying in a hot tub vid is following the general plot of this vid, and I published my book first so...

Also, this chapter is just one long Trigger warning so please if you are sensitive to such things, like self-harm and bulimia just skip to the end and I am going to write a summary so you generally don't miss anything important.

So I want to explore something new regarding the dreams. I want to make them first-person after all the dreams are an insight into Emerson's mind, so why wouldn't they be through his own eyes. I've just got this dream edited for now to see if it affects emotional impact, im trying to make it less narrative and this is one of the only ways I could think of

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Once Emerson knew that everyone was asleep, including Codie who seemingly never slept, he climbed out of his bed and headed off to the bathroom. The pent up stress from retaining the desire to actually make the lines of hate appear on his skin had burned through his mind all night. After he had woken up from the nightmare, the thought burned through his brain just like it always had recently.

He was becoming worse, he didn't need a nightmare for him to feel the burning desire, anything and everything triggered the itch that could not be sated. His depression was seeping into his everyday life, the concept lyrics he wrote for possible new songs was developing a more dark meaning, for the time being, he was able to control that by creating a juxtaposing melody and use of major chords.

His art and philosophies were more centred on darkness and he had found himself pressing down on the paper to get even darker colours. His soul was darkening, with every cut his purity of his soul was leaking out and an incomprehensible darkness was replacing it.

The drummer stood in front of the mirror, blade in hand. He hadn't made the first cut yet, he was just looking at the chaos he had caused. He lifted his right hand, the hand with the blade and put it against his left arm.

He held the blade under his pointer finger and applied the pressure. Bubbles of red slowly appeared behind the path of the blade. The moment he lifted the blade, he watched- like always- as the blood trickled from his first cut of many.

The serenity filled him, despite the horrid nature of the act, a smooth calmness filled him when the blood bubbled under the new opening of his skin. After 30 seconds he began making the rest of the cuts. Some small, some long, some deep and some shallow.

A silent tear slid down Emerson's cheek, an anomaly to his usual reactions. Usually, he was numb about what he was doing and his overall actions yet his body had somehow created enough emotions for an emotional response. He knew it wasn't because of the pain of the cut, it was a deep cut but he had cut deeper than this many times before. He wiped the tear away before continuing.

About 40 cuts later, he was cleaning up his mess. There was some kind of poetic justice about him having to clean up his own blood. He would never have someone else to do so, and he wouldn't ever wish for someone else to see him in such a vulnerable situation, for the sake of his and their mentality.

Standing under the hot water was also adding to the justice side of 'poetic justice' the pain inflicted upon himself was added to under the sting of the high-pressure shower. Each cut made him feel like he was being shot in each and every location of a cut. Even old cuts from yesterday and the day before yesterday felt like he was being scratched over and over by some sick sadist wearing a glove made of iron nails.

By the end of his shower, his arms had become numb to the added pain yet when he bent over to put his clothes back on, the cuts tried to reopen and he winced and stood back up. The pain was paralysing and he couldn't imagine anything worse than the after pain, he might've been numb when making the cuts but he had not yet developed a way to become numb to the pain felt when he moved his arms.

It's partially one of the reasons he never cut his thighs, it would be too many places in pain and he wouldn't even know how to handle it. He was also very aware that his pants would add to the extra pain. After about five or ten minutes leaning against the wall of the bathroom letting the aches run through his body, he pulled his clothes from the floor and dressed in them once again.

When he reached the door, he realised he had forgotten to lock the door and horrible images flashed through his mind about what he would do if someone had walked in on him. The images followed him as he walked to his bunk and lay down waiting for the sun to rise. The images flashed under his lids again and he wished for the gods to send him a distraction, he wouldn't even mind Codie appearing and asking him to watch a film with her. At this point in his life, any distraction would appease him.

Emerson and Codie had a routine. It had kind of formed over the last few weeks, they would attempt to sleep and/ or just lie there until the rest of the residents in the bus retired to their beds and succumbed to the lull of the fatigue and exhaustion; once they were sure the others were asleep and that there was no chance of the others waking up, they would quietly slip out of their bunks and go to the couches; once they were there they would watch one Disney film, one episode of doctor who, play cards and other board games, talk for a while and then go for an early morning walk to explore the new city, after this they would return to the bus, all before Remington and Sebastian woke up.

A few times over the course of the past few weeks, Codie had been forced to wake Emerson from a nightmare, most of the time she was able to talk him through it and calm him; only once did she have to wake Remington and Sebastian, but that time had been scary for all of them. Codie, after that night, was also having nightmares, awful flashbacks to the events of the night, the pure distress and helplessness that rolled off from Emerson in waves sent her in tears at the memory, and she could only imagine the damage it had done to the drummers' brothers.

Emerson still thought back to the night, it tormented him just as much as dream Maisie. Everything began to change that night. His ability to hide the extent of his damage from his brothers was beginning to crack much faster than it had been doing prior to the dream. He had become well aware that there was no rebuilding the old mask, the mask that painted a façade of happiness and normalcy, and he was now trying to focus on creating a new mask, one that not even his brothers could see through.

After that, everyone had begun watching Emerson carefully, waiting for him to crack. He had only confided in Codie about the contents of the dream, and it was kind of scary just how much trust he had begun to show in the new fixture in his life. He had tried come up with appropriate solutions as to why he had. His brain claimed it was just because she had no emotional ties to him and his reality couldn't hurt her as much as it hurt his brothers. But his heart was telling him it was because he knew he had to let someone in for him to heal.

Codie had never judged him, never shouted, she hadn't even told him he needed to tell his brothers. Maybe that's why he spoke to her because she didn't tell him to do what he already knew he needed to do. Perhaps she was unknowingly helping him hide something very dangerous. Perhaps Emerson was being cruel and manipulative, he was taking advantage of someone else's genuine nature.

It had been about three weeks since then and things were getting normal again, Codie and Emerson resumed spending their sleepless nights watching movies and television shows. None of the other bus residents knew of their nightly activities; just that they were seemingly always the first up.

On days of shows, they would 'wake up' extra early to sort out all of the stuff needed and make it easier for everyone else. Emerson would carry all of the heavy equipment whilst Codie would grab the small things like wires and guitars. Although, as the shows went on, Emerson found Codie unable to lift things that weren't really all that heavy. Once he had asked her to grab a 20lb box filled with miscellaneous things for the show like wires and consoles, he watched as she struggled to even move it more than 12ft and after this, he had taken it upon himself to grab it off of her.

She was new to tour after all, and now was around the time when the tour fatigue really hit, so he wouldn't be surprised if their nightly routine because less and less frequent. Not to mention, she was always running around the venue and stage during shows getting the best angles for pictures. She went into the crowd, ran to the other side of the venue to get an overview of the band and the fans, and many other insane things just for the purpose of a good picture. Her rising desire to achieve her vision amazed Emerson every time.

Emerson often found most of his energy replenished after the concerts, the wild atmosphere fed into his self-worth, he found some semblance of his old self when he was with the soldiers of the royale council.

Yet despite this, the tour was still getting to him. They had just come off from another world tour a week before they started this tour, and he hadn't had nearly enough time to heal his body and prepare it for another tour. However, he pushed through the fatigue, took pictures with fans, spoke to them and did what he had to do.

He didn't like it when he saw scars and cuts on fans arms, he made sure to kiss their wrists and tell them everything was going to be alright, that things get better. The drummer knew how much of a hypocrite he was being, but it wasn't intentional, he knew the state of mind that such an act required and didn't wish it upon anyone else.

Somehow, Emerson had fallen asleep straight away when he lay down, it was around 9 pm and his brothers were still awake, which was very new as he was always the last one awake most nights, that's if he actually went to sleep. His mind felt peaceful almost.

The fog was heavy as I tried to move through the trees, my feet feeling as though they had anchors attached to each of them making each step microscopic and painfully slow as my mind so desperately wanted to get it over with. The speed of my body- wait! Is it still my body if I actively know im in a dream and if I am talking about my own body that was being conjured up by my own subconscious mind? - Or a mental projection of his body- juxtaposed against the rapid speed of his thoughts which were trapped inside his mind, weighing him down.

The prior question which bordered on dream existentialism were the kind of questions the 'old' Emerson- well it was me but I'd become so distanced from the old me it seemed as though memories of the past were of someone else would have focused on in this situation, rather than the question that raced through my mind at supersonic speed,' Why was this dream different?

A pulling feeling tugged at the corners of my brain. I could feel, as though I was awake, my consciousness and control being placed in the back seat of my mind. I could see through my own eyes, yet control existed only outside of this body, and I was stuck watching from the outside as someone else moved and stumbled through the thick forestry. The weird thing is though I was taking a 'back seat' in my consciousness, I'd begun to drift in and out of the body, and an already fragile mentality split in two as I began watching my body move hastily through the wooded area onto a white sand beach, from both up above and through my actual eyes.

"Don't you recognise this place Emmy?" wait? Where did that come from? My heart skipped a beat at the prospect of seeing Maisie, it was an unnatural reflex. It couldn't be helped, I had loved her and there was bound to residual love left in my system, after all, she had made me go from feeling nothing to everything in one night. So, although I wouldn't wish Maisie on anyone, a small part of my heart- a very small part- couldn't help but want to see her and hold her in my arms again, and love her. Perhaps that's why I haven't been able to get over her. It wasn't just because she was the villain of my story, but because she had once been the hero. She had turned me from a monotonous robot to a person who loved people and felt things. I wanted that again. Yet once again, I was fearing the idea of people knowing I was broken.

My eyes flickered left to right, up and down, back and forth, trying to locate the vampiric bitch that drained me of myself- although parts of me still loved her, I wasn't blind to her nature anymore, I knew she only took and took until she was sated. Even when I drifted out of this subconsciously manifested body I couldn't even see her on any of the long stretches of beach, yet I could still hear her voice taunting me over and over. I was kind of bored hearing the same repeated words. My mind needs to come up with new torture techniques, I thought- or did I cause this was all just a dream in my mind so did I actually think it or did I dream that I thought that? I need to stop, all this dream logic is hurting my brain.

"This is the place where we went after our very first date, it was a cold September, you gave me your coat and scarf and we just sat there, watching the sun drop below the skyline. Would have been super cute, if I hadn't been messaging someone else and arranging a time we would 'get together' and spend quality time with each other" The back of my throat dried up, and i decided enough was enough, I tried to fight back and leave the beach, return to the regularly scheduled nightmare of a dream. I could feel the tears fall from the corner of my eyes, as all of the insecurities came to from again.

Not only had Maisie broken me, but she had brought insecurities and problems that I'd never experienced before. Before her I never questioned my self-worth, now it seemed to be the only question on my mind. Am I good enough? Do I deserve Remington and Sebastian? My main one was about my fans, I found myself recently wondering if I was good enough to be idolised by all these people. I was a hypocrite. They told me I saved them, every night meeting new fans with new stories, experiences and pains, them telling me I helped save them. They tell me I helped them find themselves outside of the void, they tell me I stopped them doing something stupid and good god they always tell me they stopped cutting cause they wouldn't see me again if they died. I always stand there, nodding and telling them it will be okay, I have no right to do so. I'm not okay so who am I to tell them that they'll be okay?

"Emerson? Emerson!" The sound of my brother's voice rang out through the darkness providing comfort. I didn't know whether it was a dream version of Remington shouting for me or the real Remington calling for me to wake up, but it was comforting to hear his voice all the more. Even in hell, Remington and Sebastian would be my ladder out, they'd make sure of it, but I would always be their fall into hell. They would be my saviours and i'd be their downfall.

Maisie tutted at the hope that Remington was providing, "Not yet my dear, he plays another part in this story" The setting around me faded and I was left in the original setting of the recurring nightly shit show. Despite the same setting being present, Maisie still wasn't here; just me. I was still concerned over where she was cause she was still causing me pain without being near. Very similar to real life.

My body began moving, the lack of control over my own body paralysed practical thoughts, leaving the mind numb, as my soul had been for many years, and out of control, unable to maintain control over my mind and body again. The feeling of being a passenger in the car with no say of the destination overwhelmed my mind and thoughts. Someone- or something- was driving my body and I was left here feeling helpless, unable to stop the movement.

It wasn't like I knew where my body was going, because the entire dream was changing, the original settings weren't here. The lack of knowledge of the destination was further down on the list of importance at the moment. What was number one on the list? It was the pure lack of power over my own body that froze me to my core and made it feel even colder than ever before.

The movement stopped. Well the body stopped, it wasn't like I had any control over anything in this dream anymore, much like reality. I had lost all control.

"Do you really think I'm done with you yet Emmy? I'm just starting, just because you've stayed asleep longer now and you're facing it? The longer you stay asleep the longer I control you!" Her speech could still be heard, despite her lack of presence. Yet, her icy smile could be heard in the busiest of rooms The words pouring through my brain in the form of Maisie's voice were the same from every night, that I could tell, I've just never stayed asleep long enough to hear the rest yet.

"You're still mine, but I was never yours. How does it feel to know that the only reason was someone else's intelligence and not your own? How many men do you think I would have cheated on you with by now? 200? The possibilities are endless. I did quite enjoy Remington though, he was good, lasted a while, much longer than you," Her voice was cold and flat, but at the same time icy and venomous and images of her malicious- borderline demonic- smirk showed in his mind, distracting him temporarily from the shit show right from hell that was currently happening.

"I'm always going to be in your head when you think you've moved on, I'll be here. My actions will ruin your trust in her and ruin your relationship. You can't move on. IM ALWAYS HERE!" the last three words echoed. It was at this moment that I figured out why she wasn't to be seen and could only be heard.

She was in MY head.

She was taunting ME.

She was controlling ME.

Before any other conscious thought could be conjured, or words conceived by my subconsciouses mental manifestation of Maisie, a man walked through the clearing. "Emerson? You're here, thank god I found you"

The sight of my brother eased the exponentially increasing distress levels, everything would be okay now that I had I big brother. Just as they had when i was younger when Remington would walk home with me when the older kids picked on me. He was always there when I needed him. It was his job as my older brother, that's what they were meant to do, wasn't it? Memories of myself and Remington flashed before me. I had no idea if it was my own doing or another torture method derived from my insolent mind which had the sole purpose of destroying me.

It was hard to not cry when the movie like memories played before me. Remington and I playing in the garden with Sebastian and our mother. A particular memory stuck out from the darkness, I had gotten into a particularly bad argument with Sebastian that morning, so after school Remington and I 'ran away' well it wasn't so much running away as it was just not going home. Anyway, we ended up in this forest and decided to make it our very own kingdom. We explored their kingdom for hours and couldn't seem to find ourselves leaving, it was a magical place. A small stream running through the tall and slender trees that wound around each other until they reached the sky. Colourful flowers painted a soft carpet across the floor for us to walk on, whilst natures creatures swarmed around us, accepting Remington and me as one of their own. Eventually, when we did return home, mom and Sebastian were so happy to see us that the morning's dispute was easily forgotten. I knew though, even in the deepest depths of that forest I would never feel lost because I had Remington.

Everything was going to be okay. Little did I know, I was so irrefutably wrong.

My right hand began moving, what was it doing? Why couldn't I have control? I tried to pull it back and stop it, tried to prevent what was already known as the future, events could be prevented though, not everything was set in stone- especially dreams. Remington looked at my slow-moving hand- his brother's slow-moving hand, already guessing what was about to happen.

Slowly and painfully for both, my hand pushed into his brother's chest, and I could feel my brother's ribs, the things that were meant to protect his heart. Remington and Sebastian were like my ribs in a way, despite all of the pain, they made sure I didn't listen to Maisie's lies when she called me, claiming the pictures were fake. They stopped me taking her back, and they would do so now. They always had my best intentions at heart whilst I barely had my bare survival as a necessity.

Yet here we were, my hand pushing past my brother's ribs and grasping his heart. Even though this was all a dream, I could feel the steady rhythm of his brother's heart as though I was lying on his chest listening as I had done as a child. It seemed weird that his heart rate didn't increase, mine had always done so due to fear whenever Maisie wrapped her claws around my heart and ripped it out. But here Remington stood, with his younger brother's hand in his chest ready to pull it out, and here he was calm. His face though was less calm, it showed hurt and pain. The type of pain that only betrayal could inflict.

Just as my hand began pulling out Remington's heart, my older brother- the same brother who had always defended me; the same brother who had fought my battles alongside me; the same brother who sat outside of a bathroom door singing to me and unwittingly fighting off the demons that chased the vulnerable shell of a human that was curled into a hollow ball- looked me in the eye and whispered two words that would eternally break my heart whenever I thought back to this night "I understand"

The pure pain from the words caused Emerson to wake up, sobbing quietly cautious of his brothers hearing and waking up. His eyes were squeezed shut trying to force out the images and words that were imprinted on the underside of his eyelids.

When he opened his eyes, he saw his brothers and friend standing there watching with pain in their eyes and it pained him because he was ripping their hearts out without them knowing it. His dream was becoming a reality. Yet when he blinked, his brothers disappeared and he realised his warped sense of reality and dreaming was seeping through to his real life.

He scrambled out of his bed and ran, not walked, not rushed, he ran to the bathroom. He sliced with no remorse, tears streaming down his face in an endless supply. The cuts got deeper and more blood poured from the wounds. Unlike any other time he went deep, he didn't think about the consequences, just that the pain caused by the dream needed to be replaced by a pain he could control.

He stood in front of the mirror, taking a moment to have a moment to collect himself before he continued on his path of self-destruction. This was his reality now there was no going back for him now. The clock on the bathroom wall claimed it was 4am, he had slept for at least 7 hours, the most sleep he had had in a very long time, but at what cost.

Suddenly, the bathroom door opened in a wild panic. His heart dropped to his stomach, and the fear of the now foreseeable consequences of his actions rippled through his body. The bathroom invader didn't see him though, they ran straight for the toilet. He watched as they stuck their fingers down their throat forcing them to throw up, unable to think of anything to do.

He listened as they whispered things like "You're ugly" "Why are you so fat?" the most painful to hear though, was the one that resonated deeply within Emerson, "No-one is ever going to love you, you're worthless"

The person stood up from the hunched over position they had adopted before and flushed the toilet. Turning to head to the sink to wash their hands, they finally saw Emerson standing there, cuts freely bleeding and a look of shock upon his face.

Neither one of them knew what to do and were left just staring at the other. Both had now seen the other at their most vulnerable state of mind, and it was a terrifying thought for them. Emerson had been caught releasing himself from the pain inflicted by a dream and Codie, Codie had been caught acting upon an old habit that she had developed in the aftermath of her past relationship with Liam.

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Summary:

Emerson is talking about how his dark thoughts are seeping into his everyday life and all that. He then goes on to talk about a routine he and Codie have and hints at very important information that's key to Codie's storyline. Emerson has a really bad dream (It actually made me cry writing it so...) and ends up in the bathroom and self-harms. The bathroom door opens and in comes codie, who makes herself throw up in the toilet, the chap ends with them staring at each other in horror as their secrets are revealed.

ALSO, a few more things. This chapter foreshadows a lot, and I doubt you'd really be able to guess some. I think. Despite the emotional trauma and pain in this chapter, it is easily my fave chapter, i was able to explore a different writing route when i was making Emerson's dream, and i just loved it.