Fix Me (Alternative ending)

Chapter 55

Trigger warning: Mentions of self harm, anorexia, depression stuff. Sorry but what did u expect

It gets late and still, Andy hasn't told Remington what's making him so upset. He hopes the boy will forget about it but knows he most likely won't. He's brushing his teeth when Remington brings it up, spitting into the sink before daring to respond.

"It's fine," is what he says, the words easy.

Remington shakes his head. "You're lying," he decides, crossing his arms.

"I'm not."

"Yes you are. You promised you'd talk about it and you're not breaking that. So what's wrong?"

"Remington-"

"What's wrong?" The younger repeats, not accepting Andy's stubbornness. "You either tell me now and we go to bed before the sun comes up, or you keep denying it and we don't get any sleep. Up to you."

"For fuck's sake, drop it."

"No."

Andy watches him lean against the doorframe, sighing. "I'll talk about it when I want to talk about it," he says sternly, "and I don't want to now, so..."

"You can't just keep pretending you're fine."

"Why not? You've done it for years." The words are dry and Remington takes them as a kick in the stomach. "Not gonna force me to tell you, are you? Not after all this consent shit? That'd be a low blow, even for you."

"Even for me. What the fuck does that mean?"

"Use your damn brain for once."

"For once? So I'm not using it any other time? You calling me stupid? Gee, thanks! Love you too!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Remington, can't you just grow the fuck up?"

"What the hell is up with you? I'm trying to help you."

Andy pushes past him. "What makes you think I need your help, huh? And no offense, but your help ain't much use."

Remington stays where he is. "Aren't you nice! My help is the only help you've got right now! I don't see anyone else queuing up to join the fucking 'Help Andy' society! Do you see anyone?" He kicks at the doorframe. "In fact, if I remember correctly, you told your band to piss off just so you could stay with me, so insult me all you like, I know you need me."

"I did that because you need me! Are you blind? You had a fucking heart attack! You're the one who's in and out of hospital. Oh, I stopped eating again! Oh, I forgot I was taking diet pills! Oh, I decided to slice my fucking hand off! You're the one fucking it all up for me!" His voice is loud, angered. He doesn't want to be taking it out on Remington but here he is, taking it out on Remington.

The boy scoffs, insulted. "Well damn, sorry I'm not fucking perfect like you then! 'cause that's what you are, right? Perfect fucking Andy! Never does anything wrong. Always the hero, the saviour, the one with all the fucking answers! What's the answer to this, then, if you know everything? What the fuck is wrong?"

"Stop asking that!"

"You stop being so rude!"

Andy is stood up, drawing his fingers across the table tensely. "I'm being rude? When you're the one pushing me to my fucking limits! You're supposed to know when to shut the fuck up, Remington! I thought you learned at least that!"

Remington presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "Burn in hell!" He yells after a moment, snatching his jacket from the hanger and storming out. The heavy wooden door slams behind him.

Head in his hands, Andy sits on the bed, whispers angry words at himself for being so stupid. He should have just answered the damn question. The room is too quiet with just him in it, though the silence is ended when his phone begins ringing. He immediately expects to see Remington's name on the screen, though instead, sees his older brother's.

"Rem called," Sebastian begins, "you really hurt him."

Andy wipes angry tears from his eyes. "I know."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

Sebastian sighs into the phone. "Andy, what's going on? Are you alright?"

"Is he okay?"

"I'm not talking about him. I'm talking about you. Rem's fine. He's sitting in the car. Are you alright, Andy, seriously?"

The man contemplates hanging up. "I'm fine," he insists, "are you sure he's okay?"

"Stop it."

"Sorry?"

"Stop pushing the focus away from you all the time. He's fine, I promise. He said he'd call me back if he wasn't fine. Now talk to me if you won't talk to him. What's going on?"

"Nothing."

Sebastian shakes his head despite Andy not being able to see. "I saw the post your old band made. Is it to do with that?"

"No."

"Andy."

"Please, Sebastian, I swear. It's fine."

"If it was fine, you wouldn't have said what you said to Rem. It's okay to be hurting, you just need to talk about it."

"I'm not hurting."

"Andy, come on. It's me. You can talk to me. You know you can."

The man is quiet.

"Look, I know you don't like talking about yourself. I'm the same. But there's clearly something going on."

"What did he say to you?"

"He said, 'we had a fight, he told me I should know when to shut the fuck up.' Doesn't sound great, does it?"

"I didn't mean it."

Sebastian puts his phone on speaker so he can carry on with what he was doing before Remington called him. "How is he supposed to know that? Whether you meant it or not, you know what he's been through and you know the weight those words have on him. I know you wouldn't say something like that unless something is really wrong, so what is it?"

Andy hangs up. He doesn't need this. He doesn't need his husband's damn brother trying to coax it out of him. He doesn't need to talk about because there's nothing to talk about.

Descriptions of self harm:

Remington is sitting in the car in tears. Surely Andy didn't mean it. There's no way. But what if he did? What if Holly was right all along and he should know when to shut the fuck up and do as he's fucking told. Even though he promised his brother he'd call back of he felt like doing something, he doesn't, and routes through the glovebox for something, finding a first aid kit with scissors inside. The dim light on, Remington presses the blade of the shiny metal to his small, bony wrist, swallowing a sob of pain and letting the blood drip slowly onto the seat.

An hour later and he's passed out.

.

Dum dum dummmmm cliff hanger...