Fix Me (Alternative ending)

Chapter 60

Trigger warning: Mentions of self harm, suicide, depression, brief mention of anorexia.

"Sorry I'm late," says Kassandra, coming into the studio. "I just found out I have a sister."

Mia, Kassandra's girlfriend, looks up from her phone. "You what now?"

"Well...half sister. Just found out. As far as I know, she's called Kacey. I was put into care before she was born."

"Holy shit."

"It's mad, right? I gotta find her!"

Mia agrees. "I'll help," she says, "so we're finishing 'Loser Loser' today, right?"

"Yep," interjects Emily, the drummer. "Just one problem. We need a bassist and someone-" she glares at Mia, "got her kicked out."

"Because she was being an idiot! And I don't know about you, but when Andy goddamn Biersack tells you you're not gonna make it with someone like her, I'm gonna listen. Andy Biersack, Emily, Andy Biersack."

"Never saw the hype," Emily mutters, "don't like his voice, honestly." She shrugs. "Anyway, what d'you know about him?"

Mia sends her girlfriend, who's black skin always seems to glow in the mid-morning light, a careless smile, amused by the conversation. "I've been a fan of his for years," she tells Emily, "I went to one of his old band's concerts a few years back. Best night of my life. He's one of the nicest people, I swear. Never done anything to hurt anyone." She puts her phone away. "So...guess we should advertise for a new bassist?"

"Guess we should," Emily agrees, "but what do we do now? We still need bass for 'Loser Loser'."

"We're gonna have to use the digital version." Kassandra pulls the chair out and sits in, since she produces their music to reduce the cost of paying for someone to do it. She studied music production in university so she knows what she's doing.

Andy pushes open the door to his studio, greeting his producer and introducing Phoebe, who smiles and says, "pleasure to be here."

Andy's headache is still very much present and he cringes at the idea of having to listen to loud music through headphones, no matter sing, too. They listen through the songs they're working on, Andy not liking that Phoebe, someone he doesn't like at all, is listening, too. He puts his headphones on once he's in the recording booth, resists pressing a hand to his head when the music begin, and does as they want and sings.

"Andy," his producer, Jess, interrupts, pausing the song. "You're all over the place."

"Oh, sorry."

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, fine. Let's just go again," he says, trying to force the aching away.

Jess starts the track again. "Andy," she says again, after the man comes in late. "Maybe we should take a break. You can sing way better than this."

"Sorry," he apologises quickly, "I'm sorry. I'm just not with it today."

"Let's have a break, okay? Go get some water."

Andy presses a grateful smile, taking the headphones off and leaving the booth. He walks straight past Jess and Phoebe and out of the room, locking himself in the bathroom and sitting on the toilet seat with his head in his hands. After a few moments, he gets up and splashes his face with cold water, looking at his own sad reflection in the mirror.

"Mate, you okay in there?"

"Fine," Andy responds, drying his face. He unlocks the door and opens it, putting his bravest face on and stepping out.

The song goes no better than the previous times and Andy wants to cry. He sees Phoebe almost smiling at his struggle and gives up on singing to say, and loudly, "I sincerely hope you're hit by a bus on the way home." He sticks both his middle fingers up at her, violently pulls the headphones off, and clatters his way out of the studio. He walks so fast he's practically running, until he makes it to the car.

Before Jess can catch him up, Andy's pulling onto road and driving home. He stops on the way and buys a box of blonde hair dye, locking himself in the house and messily covering his hair in the dye while choking on sobs and wondering why the fuck he's had the same fucking headache for more that twenty four hours. Maybe it's a migraine, he thinks, as he's washing the dye out in the shower. Even after his hair is clean, he doesn't get out. In fact, he sits against the wall and lets the water run down his face and disappear down the plughole for a while.

Sebastian knocks on the bedroom door, worried about his brother, who he hasn't seen five minutes of since last night, when the boy slept in his lap because it's the only way to get him to sleep. "Hey bub," he says softly, opening the door.

Remington looks up briefly before returning his head to the pillow.

"Come and have some lunch."

"Not hungry."

Sebastian sits on the bed and strokes the younger's hair. "Pretty bracelet."

"Abi gave it to me."

"Suits you."

"'s s'posed to help with anxiety," Remington mumbles, playing with the blue beads. "What's for lunch?"

Sebastian keeps stroking his hair. "Tomato soup. Come down and have some with me, okay? It's awfully stuffy in here."

"'kay," the boy whispers, "your tomato soup's the best."

"Glad you think so."

Remington sits up and rubs his eyes.

Sebastian hugs him before pulling him off the bed, whispering that everything's gonna be okay and taking his hand. He heats the soup up and gives his brother a bowl of it with a slice of bread and some cherry tomatoes, sitting beside him with his own. "There's some fan mail for you," he says, "if you wanna see."

"Sebby?"

"Yeah?"

"Love you."

The older smiles. "I love you too, bub."

Andy doesn't really mean for it to happen but somehow he ends up watching not only water, but also blood, disappearing down the plug. He feels sick and like his head might explode and decides that, should he feel no better in three days, he'll put a stop to it, once and for all.