Fix Me (Alternative ending)

Chapter 63

Trigger warning: Mentions of self harm, suicide, depression.

"You still not heard from Remington?" Faye asks Sebastian, after the boy never came back from therapy.

"Nope."

"D'you think he's okay?"

Sebastian sighs. "I hope so but I don't know. Maybe he went home and just forgot to tell me. I'll call Abigail if I don't hear from him by tonight."

"Is he still fighting with Andy?"

"I honestly have no idea anymore. I don't really know why they fell out in the first place. It's not like them at all."

Faye helps him with the dishwasher, picking up two plates and opening the cupboard. "I wish I knew them better," the says, "they're very reserved, aren't they?"

Sebastian hums, understanding where she's coming from. "They tend to rely on each other and when they're not both one hundred percent, they barely talk to anyone. I haven't heard a single thing from Andy since this started. Remington's different. He needs people close or he crashes," the man explains, not understanding himself that Andy is the same in that sense. "But you're right, they are reserved. Remington doesn't like people seeing that he struggles so he has a hard time making friends. I think that's why he's so close to Andy, because he's the only person outside of me, Em, and Abigail who really gets him."

"He strikes me as someone who you'd wanna get to know, if that makes sense."

"Absolutely."

"What happened to him?"

Sebastian looks down. "He was in a really abusive relationship for the best part of four years. They got together when he was only nineteen. Barely an adult, poor thing. I tried to get him to see that she wasn't good for him but he wanted the independence of having a girlfriend so he never left her. I didn't realise she was hitting him and shit until the day she was arrested. It's fucking heart breaking, seeing your brother so helpless that he just lets it happen. She found him after she was released from jail, raped him and left him to die after stabbing him. He's never been the same since."

"Fuck."

"Yeah, it's really bad. Andy was the one he went to when he was bleeding out. He always went to Andy when something was really wrong. Andy always was there, too. Made Remington see that people do care. They've hardly spent five minutes apart in a good few years, apart from tour, of course." He picks up the last plate and closes the empty dishwasher. "Anyway, that's why he gets so jumpy. It's not because of something you've done. He just struggles to separate the past from the present sometimes. You've gotta be real gentle with him."

Andy sleeps on and off for the best part of twenty four hours, waking up for water and accepting gratefully bowls of soup and buttery bread that Remington brings him, noticing how the boy eats with him without making a fuss. He hasn't spoken, not since Remington returned home. He honestly isn't sure if his voice will work without breaking.

Remington cleans up blood from the bathroom floor while Andy is sleeping, throwing away two towels that are past saving and looking through the man's phone to delete any triggering photos he might have. Sure enough, he finds a folder of photos Andy has taken of his own open wounds, deleting the whole thing and putting the device down. He curls up next to his husband in the evening and sleeps, too, waking when Andy sits up in a slightly confused manner. Remington yawns and smiles. "Hi there," he says softly.

The man rubs his eyes as though he's trying to rid himself of anything negative.

"Water?"

Andy nods. He takes the glass when it's handed to him, finishing it and handing it back before finally talking. "Didn't think you'd come," is what he says, his voice raw from all the ruthless crying.

"I'm sorry it took me so long," Remington returns, sat in the dark beside the man.

"I don't blame you."

Remington shakes his head. "Don't say that, baby, it's not your fault. How're you feeling now? You've been sleeping a long time."

Yawning, Andy looks down at his hands, at the recent lines on his skin. "Headache's gone," he mumbles, "scared I'm gonna wake up and find that this is a dream and I'm still alone." He plays with his fingers. "I'm sorry, Rem, for what I said. I'm so sorry." Tears return to his glassy eyes. He wipes them away.

"We both said some shit, Andy, it's okay. Not important. No matter what's been said, you're more important and I need you to know that." He takes his husband's hand.

Andy wants to cry again.

Remington checks the time, squinting at the bright phone screen. "D'you wanna watch the sunrise with me? It's just gone five."

The man nods. He doesn't like that he has to let go of Remington's hand to get out of bed, stretching his arms out and yawning again as Remington pulls the bed spread off and brings it with them. Outside, they sit on the grass under the blanket, Andy leant against Remington because he needs to contact, and watch the early sun peak out from the horizon. They sit there for a while quietly, eventually going back in for some breakfast.

Remington makes porridge while Andy sits and watches, drizzling the bowls with honey and sitting opposite his husband, who smiles as a way of showing his gratitude. "What d'you wanna do today?" He asks.

The older doesn't respond, overwhelmed at the thought of having to do anything. He stirs in the honey to avoid having to answer.

"How's the album going?" Remington asks, trying to get him talking because he knows he'll feel less lonely once he's had a proper conversation.

Andy puts his head on the table. He doesn't want to think about the album because that means thinking about Phoebe, who's forced her way into his life somehow.

Remington hears as he resumes crying, pushing his chair out and coming to Andy's side. A hand on the man's shoulder, he kneels down, says, "here, baby, hug."

"I'm so done," Andy stutters, not moving. He gulps in a sob, hitting the table with his hands. "Don't leave me," he cries.

"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

There aren't enough words in the world to explain how Andy is feeling.