Shame On You! (Remdy)

3

Trigger Warning: Depression, self-harm, blood/injury, suicide mention

Oliver had already left for work when Remington woke, having not gone to sleep until some time after two in the morning. He had spent the best part of an hour sat against the bathroom wall crying into his hands, replaying the words of their conversation over and over, trying to decided whether it was true, whether he was being melodramatic and childish. 

Sitting up in bed, he reached for his phone, checked it to find four more texts from Andy; 

Day off today, Jake's come down w food poisoning, wanna do something? 

Feel like I haven't seen you in ages :( 

I saw you announced the release date of your album, congrats!! 

Lemme know if you wanna do something. I'd like to see the new collection in the art gallery, it opened yesterday. 

Reading the messages brought Remington close to tears again. He typed out a response, deleted it, typed it again, hesitated, and pressed send; Sorry. Rlly busy this week. 

Barely a minute later, Andy replied, assuring him it was okay and wishing him a good day. Remington didn't send anything back, put his phone facedown on the table, lay back down. He felt sick with guilt and with what Oliver had said to him the previous night.

For hours, he remained in bed, finally pulling himself up at midday to use the toilet and to dress, found himself hypnotized by his own weary appearance, bore his eyes into his reflection. 

So, Oliver didn't care. 

Or, he did care, but didn't know how to show it. 

Or, he simply failed to understand what he was supposed to care about. 

Whatever it was, he had made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with what Remington was feeling, didn't have an interest in knowing what was happening beneath the surface. Though, that had always been the case to some extent, so how surprised could Remington be, really? It was just the way Oliver was, the way their relationship was. They were two parts. One was emotional and reckless and an attention whore. The other was sensible and clever and content in his own presence. 

They were so different that, sometimes, Remington couldn't quite remember how it was that they had become a couple to begin with. They balanced eachother out, he supposed; he softened some of Oliver's hard edges, Oliver toughened his weaknesses. Or maybe it was that Oliver taught him that weaknesses were just that - weak.

Maybe they were together because Remington had been easy to get. His constant need, his desperation for love and affection, made it a simple task for anybody looking for a boyfriend. All they needed to do was call him pretty and hug him and he'd fall for them as though they'd poured their heart into a love-letter and posted it under his bedroom door for him to wake up to. 

Maybe he had just been lonely, and Oliver showed up at the right time. 

The day was slow. He charged his laptop and watched Youtube, he ate without cooking, spreading butter on crackers and having them with a cup of milky coffee. He thought about taking himself for a walk but decided against it. He read Andy's texts again and almost agreed to go to the gallery with him, backed out only because he wasn't sure he could face the process of getting ready, of doing his makeup and hair and finding a presentable outfit. 

It was mid-evening when Oliver got home, by which time Remington was sitting shirtless in the shower dragging the blade across his arm. He was startled by Oliver's entry into the bathroom, stared up at him, gripping the razor which sat delicately on his skin.