Make Me (Remdy)

We All Let People Down

Here's a quotation from my vampire novel :)

We love Zander

'Don't move,' he murmurs, picking up the weapon with his hand still holding Chase's arm. 'If I kill you, I'm sorry. It was nice knowing you, you're very pretty, you're not bad at kissing, and overall, nine out of ten would recommend to a friend.'

* * *

Trigger warnings: Mentions of death, injury/blood, depression, brief mention of suicide

oh look Andy's being stupid again who'd have thought hah sorry

Arriving home is a relief for Remington. He dumps his things in his room, gets changed, and texts Andy, asks when they can meet and go to the graveyard. While he waits for a reply, he unpacks his clothes and hangs them up, checking his phone obsessively. It gets to the evening and Andy still hasn't responded, so he decides he'll go tomorrow, that he'll wait for the man to go with him because that's less bleak than going alone.

However, by the afternoon of the following day, he still hasn't received a text back, and he's conflicted. Does he go and sit there crying like a loner, or does he wait and go with Andy, and then when he cries, at least he won't be crying alone? He decides on the second, because Andy did say he'd come with him, that the man is probably just busy with sorting everything out after getting home. He leaves it another day.

Andy finally replies the following evening, says he can't make it, so Remington leaves him on read and goes alone.

When he gets there, he sits on the grass and looks at the flowers that need replacing. He sighs. He feels guilty for leaving them all this time, guilty for going off and attempting to enjoy himself when they're still here, and the last moments they ever had were spent with glass through their heads. AKA not enjoying themselves.

It's dark already, and cold. Remington puts his hands in his pockets and shakes his head. For a while, he sits quietly, looks at the dark shapes of the grave stones, their looming presence. Like they're mocking his inability to detach himself from something that happened more than a year ago. Like even his own dead brothers are finding humour in his unstable emotional state. Like the only one who still cares about what happened to them is him, that everybody else has moved on, found new friends, new partners, new hobbies. Like the only thing he's capable of is missing these two people.

He drops his head down. The wind is chilling, cutting through his jacket and whipping at his hair. The warmth of fresh tears is a shock to his cold skin, burning his icy cheeks as though he's made of something tear-able.

The darkness is laughing at him.

He's here alone. The darkness is laughing at the tragedy of him being here alone, as he has been so many times before. Alone and crying and unchanged. His brothers remain dead, his eyes remain wet, and his whatever-the-fuck-Andy-is-to-him remains a complete and utter selfish fucking cunt.

He knows he's an idiot. For believing Andy actually cared, for being weak enough to say those three stupid words to him, for letting Andy say them back as though he meant it. An idiot and alone, as he always is, as he always ends up.

People die, people move on, yet here he is. Not moving on, not even trying.

They'd be disappointed in him. His brothers, that is. They'd ask why the hell he gets in such a state over them, why he's so dependant, why he isn't out having fun like everyone else. They'd laugh at him the way the darkness does, and he'd tell them to piss off. Only he can't, because the won't hear, because they're dead. Because they're dead and they always will be dead and the only thing that could be worse than that is if they had never been born in the first place. And still, they're dead.

The only two people he needs and they're never coming back.

Remington walks home shivering, head down. He unlocks the door with fingers that are half-numb and opens it with a heavy, mournful sigh. As usual, the house is silent. Too silent, perhaps. He longs for Andy to be here, but then he hates himself for thinking about the man at all, so he goes upstairs and cries for another half hour in the shower, until the water goes cold. Then, with a mixture of water and tears running down his face, he gives up and crawls into bed, not bothering to dry his hair which soaks into the pillow like blood through clothes

He wants to call Shy because she's helped in the past, but remembers that she's with someone new now, that Emerson isn't important to her anymore, and so he doesn't. Besides, what could she do, anyway? Tell him it's okay when it clearly isn't? Lie to him, say she misses them too, when she clearly doesn't? He doesn't need any of that.

Despite the comfort of being back in his own bed where there is no buzzing and no motorway outside his window, sleep is not possible, for when he lies still for a moment too long, he feels the impact of the lorry again, sees the faces of his brothers, unmoving, bloody. He sits up and rubs his eyes, picks up his phone from the side. Andy has sent another text: Sorry about before, I was in the middle of something. We can go together tomorrow if you want?

Remington doesn't reply. He puts the mobile down and his head in his hands and he wonders what it would feel like to join them.