Fix Me (Alternative ending)

Chapter 103

Trigger warning: Mentions of eating disorders, suicide, self harm, substance abuse

Remington returns to his room after breakfast to Andy being sick. He has to look away until the man has stopped. "Are you okay?" He then asks, picking up his sketchbook from the desk.

"Dandy," Andy mumbles, getting out of bed sluggishly to go into the little bathroom and rinse his mouth out. "You?"

"Well breakfast sucked." He sits on his bed with a pencil and the book ."The cold tap's dodgy!" He calls, "it might spray you!"

Turning it slowly, Andy gulps water straight from the tap, spitting it out and turning the faucet off. "So why're you here?" He asks, returning to bed.

"My new therapist-uh...oh shit, what's her name?"

Andy chuckles. "Wow, you must really like her."

"Jane. That's her name. She thinks I'm jealous of Emerson." He flips through the sketchbook to a recent drawing. "She was like, 'oh Remington, you're doing terribly and you're gonna die so I'm committing you.' What the fuck does she know? I've only been talking to her five fucking minutes."

"I don't think she really said that, did she?"

"You'd be surprised. She's very blunt."

Andy finds Harley. "How're things with Abigail? You two seem close now."

"She's, like, the best," Remington says, looking up from the paper when the door opens.

"Weigh in," the doctor says, looking at the singer.

Remington groans loudly but obliges, leaving the drawing on the bed and leaving with the man.

Andy reaches for the sketchbook, retrieving it and sitting up while he looks through his husband's artwork. When the boy gets back, he's still admiring.

"You're not supposed to look through other patient's things," Remington says carelessly, lying on his bed. "Breach of privacy or whatever."

"Mm, considering most of these drawings are of me, I think you can allow me."

"D'you like them?"

"They're shit," Andy jokes, "of course I do, kitty. Here, take this before I'm sick all over it." He holds the book towards Remington, who takes it back. "You've gotten really good."

"I know," he grins, "thanks."

Andy's brought a bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice on a tray. He eats it while Remington carries on with his drawing, letting the boy have a sip of the juice and lying back down after. He ends up going back to sleep, leaving Remington to quietly finish his artwork.

At lunch, Remington kisses Andy before going, eating fairly quickly, all things considered, because he wants to go back to his room and be with his husband. He's told he's doing well today, mumbles a thankyou, and almost runs down the hall and into the room, where Andy is still asleep. He opens the man's suitcase and pulls a hoodie out, taking his off and putting Andy's on. For a minute or so, he looks at the man's arm, where the track marks are, biting the inside of his mouth. "Does it hurt?" He asks, when Andy wakes, touching the marks.

Andy yawns. "Everything hurts," he mumbles, "I dunno, I got used to it." He knows Remington notices the recent cuts and looks up at his eyes, which are looking right back.

"Sorry," Remington says.

"Shush, you."

"Sorry, I keep saying that."

Andy raises an eyebrow.

"Oh, fuck," Remington realises, giggling after.

"Do that again, it was fuckin' cute."

"What? Laugh?"

The man hums.

Remington shakes his head and kisses Andy's hand. "D'you want some water?"

"Sure."

"Do you have a glass?"

Andy laughs. "You're doing great, sweetie," he teases.

"You're one to talk."

"Hey, you're supposed to be nice to me, I'm sick." He puts on a frowny face.

Remington giggles again. "Not my fault."

"If I recall, you called me a druggy."

"I don't think so."

Andy hums, amused. "Sure thing, baby, whatever you say."

"How long is this whole withdrawal thingy supposed to last?"

"Couple of days or something."

"Y'know, I don't think they realise we're married."

"Really?"

"Well my doctor who did the weigh in said it was good I was getting to know my room mate, so..."

Andy sits up slowly. "Hear me out," he begins, "let's pretend like we're falling in love. Y'know, we can do all of that awkward 'does he like me back' shit, and have the whole first kiss thing. And it'll be fun and I need fun."

"Can we do the weird, half-hug thing that people who fancy eachother do? I've always wanted to do that."

Andy snorts. "Of course you have. Honestly, why am I surprised?"

"Please?"

"We can do whatever you like, kitty." He covers his mouth with his hand.

Remington hands him the bucket, looks away while he's sick, putting it under the bed after. "Can we also do the sexual tension arguing thing?"

"You mean the thing we do all the time now? When we argue over something stupid because we haven't fucked in a week and then we fuck?"

"Mhm. Maybe without the actual fucking, though. They might not like that."

"That's a damn shame."

The boy nods in agreement. "It is 'cause I'm so horny," he whines, "and now you're sitting here all withdrawal-y but somehow you're still so fuckin' hot and all I wanna do is-"

"Let's not finish that sentence or it might actually happen."

"I was gonna say shove it down your throat, for the record."

Andy laughs. "One day, princess."

"You don't seem that sick, you know. I thought it was supposed to make you all dizzy and shit."

"Oh, I am."

"Oh?"

"But talking to you is distracting, so...keep talking."

Remington sits on the bed beside Andy. "Dunno what to say now you've said that." He exhales.

Andy takes his hand, bony and fragile. "Sweetheart, why are you really here?"

"I think you know why," the boy whispers.

"You-"

"Cut my tummy real bad and took a load of diet pills," he finishes, "and whatever she's called-"

"Jane?"

"Yeah, Jane. She made me come here. And, like, I was gonna ask her to commit me anyway, so..."

"Oh kitten," Andy whispers, "I'm so glad you're still alive."

"Me too."

Andy kisses his knuckles.