Make Me (Remdy)

We're All Hurting

Trigger warnings: Mentions of suicide, death, depression

Andy sits on a couch and puts his head in his hands. "Alright then," He says calmly. "Let's say I do that, yeah? Let's say I go home and OD. You find me dead tomorrow when I don't turn up to the studio. My eyes are open but blank and my skin is cold and there's foam around my mouth. Then what? You rejoice because I'm no longer able to live, or you lose your mind with grief and regret and guilt and you kill yourself a few days later? How does that help anything?"

Remington covers his face with his hands. Whether he's crying or not, Andy couldn't be sure. 

"Please," The man tries. "Just be honest with with me." 

Instead of giving a verbal response, Remington sits on the other couch and shakes his head. He doesn't look at Andy. 

"I know you're dealing with shit but it doesn't give you the right to spread personal details I trusted you with." 

"I know," Remington mumbles now. 

Andy sighs. "So why'd you do it?" 

A long, heavy pause, then, "I don't know." 

"You don't know," Andy repeats, followed by another sigh. "So what? You just decided today you'd tell everyone about it?" 

"No, I..." He leans back on the couch and looks up at the ceiling. "I didn't tell everyone."

"That's not the point." 

"Then what is the point?" 

"The point is that I told you the information in confidence and I trusted you to respect that." 

"It's not like you told me you killed someone." 

"Remington, please. Stop being stupid. You know exactly why I'm pissed off and I know you're avoiding giving me a real answer, but for the love of God, just be honest with me for once. I'm sick of trying to read between the lines." 

"Your whole thing is that you love lyrical shit," Remington says dismissively. "All I did was tell CC that your son isn't dead, how's that such an issue? Like, I know you're a control freak or whatever, but come on, this is ridiculous." 

"No, it's not. What's ridiculous is that you won't take it seriously. This isn't some piece of drama you can throw around. It's my life, Remington." 

"Don't I know it." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

The younger plays with the fabric of his shirt. "Nothing." 

"Listen, you can't play with me and my emotions just because you're having a hard time. Life doesn't work like that." 

"At least you get a life," Remington mutters. 

"See, we're back here again. Your brothers. You need to sort this out." 

"I haven't done anything." 

"You can't get through one conversation without bringing them up. I get it. They're dead and I'm sorry, but dragging it through the dirt like you do won't fix anything." 

"Stop trying to therapise me."

"I'm trying to help you." 

"Good. Do it somewhere that isn't in my house. Thank you, goodbye." 

Andy shakes his head and gives a short laugh. "I'm not going, are you kidding? You think I don't know what you'll do if I leave you alone?" 

"Yes, well done. So clever. You've used your amazing brain to work out that I might in fact not be loving life. Congratulations, would you like a medal?" 

"Quit it." 

"I'm a grown man, I don't need you watching me." 

"Really, you're a grown man? Because you're acting like a child." 

Remington huffs and folds his arms. 

"Point proven." 

"Oh, fuck off." 

Andy shakes his head again. He seems unbothered by the rudeness in his voice. "Would you like a hug?" He asks. 

"No. Fuck off," Remington fires. 

"Fine. Your loss." 

"It wouldn't be my loss if you died." 

"Back here now, are we? This really is a lovely chat we're having. I feel like I've learnt so much since coming in here. I could write an essay about how much I've learnt. You could edit it for me. Wouldn't that be a fun task?" 

Remington sends him a hard glare. "Fuck off," He says again. "No one cares." 

"It would start, 'In this essay, I will be exploring the ways in which Remington Leith is a complete bullshitter. One way I will do this is by analysing his choice of insults. For example, he claims to want me 'to die', however this is simply not true, because without me, he'd fall apart. Another way-" 

"You're not fucking clever."

"Hey, I have to start again now," Andy mock-complains. 

Remington throws a cushion at him. 

"Would you like a hug yet?" 

"No." 

"You're not a good liar." 

"You're not a good anything." 

"Great." 

"It is great." 

"What about now? You want a hug now?" 

"No." 

"I think you're lying." 

"I'm not." 

Andy gets up and sits next to Remington, where he forcefully pulls the younger into him and holds him there. Remington fights but with no real effort, quickly giving in and accepting it. Then he abruptly bursts into tears, so Andy holds him tighter. "I know you're hurting," he murmurs. "It's okay to be hurting, but you need to face what's making you hurt, you know? You can't keep pretending it's fine because this is what happens. And as much as I love hugging you, I don't love seeing you upset like this. You know I'm not trying to get on your nerves, I'm just trying to make you see that if you continue faking your emotions, you're gonna fucking go crazy. And believe me, you're already crazy enough for the both of us. So for once in your life, accept that I'm actually right, and just talk to me. That's all I'm asking of you."