Fix Me (Alternative ending)

Chapter 94

Trigger warnings: Mentions of eating disorders, substance abuse

Two hours before the show tonight, Andy begins begging for someone to shoot him up. "Don't care what it is," he says, slouched on the couch in the dressing room. "Jus' fuckin' gimme somethin' 'cause I wanna die too bad to deal with this." He sniffles and groans.

Martin, who's pacing, pulls his phone from his pocket. "I've found one dealer nearby," he says, "I've barely known him two minutes but I guess it'll do."

Andy mumbles aggressively to get the drugs, lying on the couch as his manager leaves.

When Martin returns, he has the needle and the new stash, which, though he isn't aware, is much stronger than Andy's previous one. "Arm," he demands, rolling up the sleeve on the man's leather jacket and ignoring the obvious track marks already there. He shoots him up quickly, says he's taking the stash back to the bus, and leaves again.

Andy gets himself ready once the drug's taking effect. The show goes a well as it could go, all considered. When he returns to the bus early in the morning, his bunk is covered in pieces of paper that all say, in Remington's handwriting, 'stop taking it or I stop liking u.' The man picks most of the pieces up, scatters the floor with them, and crawls into bed. He has a text from Abigail simply saying she's here if he needs her.

Remington is woken the next morning by the familiar sounds of Martin making coffee and breakfast. He dresses in his bunk, gets out, and collapses. Andy hears it from his bed. He gets out without standing on the boy, picks him up and checks he hasn't hit his head. "We're going to hospital!" He yells down the vehicle, "say no and I kill you."

"The fuck is wrong this time?" Martin asks.

Andy carries Remington into the living area. "You need an answer? Are you thick?" He lies the boy on the couch. "He's starving himself, in case that isn't fucking obvious, and now he needs to go to hospital so they can tube feed him or he'll fucking die, alright?"

"He'll be fine, just make him eat when he wakes up."

"It doesn't work like that!"

"It does today," Martin says dismissively.

Andy shakes his head in disbelief. "You're seriously not gonna let him go to hospital?"

"Nope."

"Fuck you. You're a fucking horrible person." He purposefully knocks over a glass half full of water. "If he fucking dies, I'm gonna fucking murder you, I fucking swear! Why don't you care? He's already had a fucking heart attack! That should worry you!"

"Well then maybe he should fucking eat more! Not my fault he doesn't like food, is it?"

"Doesn't like-that's not how it fucking works, you fucking straight ass homophobic mother fucking cunt! Go to hell!" He stands between Remington and Martin, as though paranoid the man might try and hurt the delicate boy.

"I'm not homophobic!"

Andy laughs.

"I'm not!"

"No? So you're fine when I say I love Remington, a man, the same way you love your wife, a woman? And it doesn't bother you when I tell you my dick has been in him, that we've made out in public and fucked in a cinema bathroom? You would have no problem being at our wedding where we were pronounced husband and husband, and there was no one in a puffy dress? And it's totally okay for you to know that we've fucked in the same shower you use?"

Martin opens his mouth to say something but Andy cuts in.

"I always swallow," he says, and his manager clears his throat. "That's what I thought. Now let me take my husband to fucking hospital or I'm fucking you up. And not in the gay way." His voice softens as soon as Remington moves, opens his eyes. "You're going to hospital," he says matter-of-factly.