Fix Me (Alternative ending)

Chapter 90

Trigger warnings: Mentions of eating disorders, substance abuse, violence (?), abuse, self harm

Remington is confused when, as soon as his show is over, Andy crawls backstage. It doesn't even cross his mind what it could be because the idea of Andy ever taking drugs is so beyond his expectations of the man.

Andy coughs, sniffles, sits heavily in a chair. "Fuck me," he mumbles, Martin telling him to stay put before running off to retrieve the stash.

Looking at his husband, Remington tries to make sense of the situation in his mind, which isn't working at its best because of his hunger from refusing food all day. "What's wrong?" He asks, panicked.

The man waves a hand, dismisses the question. There's no way he could ever explain. Definitely not now, of all times.

"Andy? Andy, what's wrong?"

"You don't know?" The guitarist says, in a sympathetic tone.

"Don't know what? What should I know?" Remington is talking quickly. He can't believe Andy would tell his tour guitarist something and not tell him.

The guitarist looks away awkwardly, regretting saying anything. "Oh mate..."

"Tell me what I should know!"

Andy drops his head into his hands.

Remington begins frantically playing with his fingers. "What's wrong with him?" He asks loudly.

Martin returns. He has the things still wrapped in the towel, quickly unravelling and dropping the fabric once he approaches. "Alright, mate," he says to Andy, kneeling in front of him. "Which arm is it?"

Andy holds his left arm out, lets his manager hold his wrist and prepare the needle. Remington watches it happen. He grabs Martin and tries to stop him. "You can't," he tries desperately, "you can't do that! You'll make it worse! You'll make it worse!"

"You don't fuckin' know 'ow this feels," Andy mumbles, "fuckin' do it, Martin!"

Remington grabs the plastic part of the needle, tries to pull it from the man. "No," he protests.

"Deal with him," Martin says to the guitarist, waiting for Remington to be pulled away before injecting Andy. "There, all good." He pats the singer's arm and gets up off the floor.

"You can't-you can't do that!" Remington is shouting, freeing himself from the guitarist and running out of the back door.

"Shit!" Andy curses, "I said don't tell him!"

"You're the one who forgot to fucking take it earlier," Martin retorts.

Andy shakes his head and runs out of the same door Remington used, the needle in his hand. "You don't know what it's like!" He insists.

Remington backs away from him. "You told them!" He yells, jabbing a finger at the closed door. "And you didn't tell me!"

The man looks back at the door. "What the fuck was I supposed to do? 'Oh hey Rem, I know you're barely holding on right now but I should let you know I'm on heroin'. Would that have made you feel better, huh? Would that have made it all okay?"

"You said you were okay! Over and over! I've been so honest with you! I've told you everything that's going on with me, Andy, everything! And I trusted you!" He stands against a wall. "I wouldn't have let you fuck me if I knew I was being fucked by a-a druggee! You've got a fucking problem, Andy, if you think it's okay to do this shit and not-and not tell me, your fucking husband! The one you proposed to, promised you'd never hurt!"