Fix Me (Alternative ending)

Chapter 83

Shit's boutta get interesting

Trigger warnings: Eating disorders, vv brief mention of suicide

After a couple of weeks of talking to Marcus, Remington begins trusting him and telling him more personal things. Today, they're talking about safe foods. Remington explains that popcorn is one of his, as well as orange juice and strawberries. He says that, even after conquering it a while ago, cheese is still an issue and he tends to avoid it, though Andy made him have some on his pasta last night.

"Cheese is disgusting," Marcus says, and then, "at least you can eat it now, though."

Remington hums, circles his finger around the top of the mug of hot chocolate. They're sitting in a café together. "I guess."

"So...what's, like, the hardest thing you've had to do?"

"Huh?"

"For your anorexia, I mean."

The boy looks at him, looking down again before responding. "Having to lie, probably. Sucks. When everyone enjoys meals out and it makes me feel sick. Being asked what my favourite food is and not having an answer because I don't remember how anything tastes anymore." He shrugs. "It's different now. I actually eat. Oh, also...I fought non-stop with my brother about it. That was awful."

"Sebastian?"

"No, Emerson. He used to think I used it all as an excuse or shit. I don't know. It's not so bad anymore." He sips the drink. "What's the hardest thing you've done?"

"Oh, uh, I broke up with my girlfriend."

"Yeah?"

"She didn't get it, y'know? It was harder to try and explain it than to just end it with her."

Remington doesn't agree with that at all. He remembers the tough conversations he's had with everyone he's close to since he was diagnosed. He'd never have wanted to end his relationship with any of them. "Maybe she just wasn't the one."

"D'you think there even is such a thing?"

"Yeah, 'course I do." He touches his wedding ring. "Sometimes it's the only thing keeping me going, so I have to believe it; that I've found my person, if you will."

"Is that love or fear, though?"

"Both, I guess. Don't make me overthink it 'cause then I might go fuckin' jump in front of a bus." He sips the drink again. "You know you seem really on top of it all considering what you've got."

"Oh?"

"Like...I've never been on top of it at all. Sometimes they think I am, y'know? They're like, 'wow, Remington's doing really well'. But I'm not because how could I be? And it's annoying sometimes 'cause I just wanna be honest with them but at the same time, there'd be hardly any point in that. It's not like they could make it go away, so..."

"You're really pessimistic aren't you?"

"Sure, you can say that."

Marcus hums. "So you're, like, recovered on the outside?"

"If you mean physically healthy, then yes. I'm recovered. You?"

"Have been for a while, yeah."

"So then why're you coming to group therapy."

"Same reason you are."

Remington plays with his ring. "I go because my therapist makes me go. I don't want to, it feels unnatural, telling a group of people I don't know all about shit I deal with."

"So then just stop going?"

The boy laughs. "Yeah, good one." He finishes his drink. "Speaking of therapy, I'm late. See ya'."

Emerson's an easy target. Phoebe knows so because she made it that why. She didn't plan on him in particular, just someone close to Remington and Andy, but when she saw him, she knew he'd be the perfect revenge plan. They got her kicked from her band. She'll get them all completely ruined.

It was fairly easy to break up him and Shy. All she had to do was tell him what she was planning, that she wouldn't do it if he did what she said. Emerson gave in because everything she was planning would hurt his brother.

"It's easy," she says to him, sitting in his living room, "just count your calories."

"I'm not doing that," Emerson insists, "I don't need to eat less."

"I just want you to trigger Remington, it's not that hard. It's either that or we make the documentary. Your choice."

"What the fuck is wrong with you? All this because he gave you some advice you didn't like?"

"If you go over five hundred calories twice, we make the documentary. Got it?"

"You're a monster."

"Oh, I know. It starts now. Make sure Remington sees you getting thinner."

Emerson stares at her. "No."

"D'you want a punch? It's not hard. Or do you need reminding of the other option?"

He sighs.

"Five hundred. Be good."

After she's left, Emerson downloads a calorie counting app and enters in what he's already had today. It takes him to just above four hundred and he puts his head in his hands because he knows exactly what she's doing and yet can't tell anyone.