Fix Me (Alternative ending)

Chapter 107

Agh sorry its been a while
Follow me on Inkitt I'm writing a story there that's a continuation of the one shot Shiny Desks are Meant for Getting Railed On or smth I can't remember the exact name. I'm aliyssaa on there too, and chapter 2 is published. The book is called Easy Money.

Trigger warnings: mentions of eating disorders, self harm, suicide, brief mention of drugs but its like one single word.

Remington continues struggling against the doctor, who seems to be clueless considering he works in a psych ward. If he wasn't scared for his life, Remington would laugh.

When he isn't released, the boy begins getting violent, kicking and hitting him with the arm that isn't gripped in such a bad memory-inducing manner. He feels like he's in immediate danger, like he has to escape and get away or something terrible will happen.

"Doctor Richards!" A voice shouts. Remington thinks he recognises it as his therapist. "Don't touch patients! Let him go!"

Remington runs back inside in tears as soon as he's released, sitting under the desk in his room and bringing his knees to his chest.

Dr Jameson, Remington's therapist, pulls Dr Richards to the side. "What you just did is unacceptable," he says quietly but not calmly, "that man has been abused for years on end and has a history of hallucinating his abuser. You just triggered that. Do you know how awful that is?"

"I didn't know."

The man looks away for a moment. "That's not an excuse. You are in a building where every single person here is dealing with something. Remington is neck-deep in anorexia, depression, and PTSD. He, as should be clear just from looking at him, should be talked to and handled gently. You cannot treat anyone, and I mean anyone, like that. It's not okay at all and you've probably given that poor boy a panic attack." He shakes his head. "I know you're new here, but come on. This is just not acceptable." With that, Dr Jameson goes to make sure Remington isn't doing himself any harm.

Remington hears the door open. "Andy?" He asks, because that's who he needs.

"Afraid not," the man says softly.

"Where is he?"

"Let's concentrate on you, alright. How are you feeling?"

Remington rolls up his hoodie sleeve and shows him the bruise on his arm, where he was grabbed. "Scared," he mumbles, "hurt."

"Can we come out from under here and have a glass of water?"

"I want Andy."

"You two have gotten pretty close, huh?"

Remington rubs his eyes. "We've been married for years," he says, "where is he?"

"Sneaky, aren't you? Making me think you'd just met him."

The boy shrugs.

"I'm gonna get you some water," he decides.

Remington nods, stays quiet while the therapist leaves. He puts his head between his knees, whispers, "fucking Holly."

When the man returns, he hands Remington a bottle of cold water and encourages him to sit on the bed. "How're we doing?" He asks.

The boy sips the water. "Fine," he mumbles, "just confused."

"Yeah?"

"It's s'posed to be a safe place here, I thought, but now I don't feel safe."

"That's understandable, Remington. What Dr Richards did isn't acceptable."