Making Remy Laugh (BoyxBoy)

Twenty Three- Remy Reed.

Remy's hands were wrapped in gauze, always fresh ones since he insisted on changing them every twenty minutes, and he could feel them throb against the soft material, could feel his blood slowly leaking from inside of him, where it was supposed to be. Sighing, Remy sat up in bed and swung his legs over the edge. Slowly, afraid to move at a normal pace due to the dizziness he felt at being vertical after not eating a proper meal for over three days, he walked into his bathroom and leaned against the sink. He unwrapped his hands, starting with his left, and then his right, and looked at them in the bright light of the bathroom, looked at the blood smeared over his knuckles and the cracked skin between his fingers.

Remy spread his fingers, in almost awe at how small they looked right then, how breakable and delicate, and then he curled them into fists as he thought about Cecil's hands, always steady and strong, always reaching over to take his hands when Remy began to fidget or over think. Remy loved those hands, he thought. Loved the long fingers and the lightly calloused palms. Loved how right they had felt while holding his own fingers tight enough to fool him into thinking he would never have to let go.

Then Remy thought of those same hands, the ones he always loved, roughly groping him that night, taking what he wanted without a moment's pause. Treating Remy like he was a whole. A slut, Remy remembered, though he hadn't ever forgotten. The word was in the back of his mind now, forever, making him feel constantly filthy.

Dirty.

Remy gently flinched as the scolding water met his hands, but other than that he showed no sign of discomfort, even as he applied soap and vigorously befan scrubbing his hands until the wounds on his hands reopened and drained into the clean water, staining it, and the bottom of his sink, red. A soft noise of annoyance left him, and he shut off the water, reaching over to the box of gauze that he kept up by the foset for easy access.

The box was empty.

In a sort of panic, Remy turned and threw open the doors to his cabinets, rifling through them with bloody fingers, looking for another box of the cloths to cover his open wounds.

Dirty.

He came up empty and dropped his shaking hands to his sides.

"Alright," he said to himself. "Don't freak out". He could feel himself doing just that. "It's not a big deal. Call Sydney and he'll go and bring you more. It's not a big deal". Even as he said the words, Remy felt that he was lying to himself.

When he made his way back into his bedroom, he was surprised to find Atticus sitting at his desk with a small smile. "Remy, do something with me," the young boy whined, pouting cutely and in any other situation, Remy would have caved and agreed to do whatever his brother asked of him, but he couldn't find it in himself to care just then.

"Get out of my room, Atti," Remy said, looking away as his brothers face fell completely and falling on his bed.

"But Remy-"

"Actually," Remy interrupted, and Atticus's eyes lit up, waiting to hear what his older brother had to say. Remy knew he was going to disappoint the young boy, but the idea of that didn't bother him as much as it normally would. "My phone's on my desk, would you bring it to me?"

Atticus happly picked up the device and dropped down from Remy's desk chair, causing it to spin. Quickly, Atticus hurried over to Remy and gave him his cell phone. "Now what?" Atti asked, climbing onto the bed next to Remy, who ignored him and looked at his phone screen, unlocking it with shaky hands and sending Sydney a message to bring him more gauze. When he was done, he threw the phone onto his pillow and dropped his head down onto his mattress. "Uh... Remy, now what?" Atticus asked again and Remy made an annoyed noise.