Make Me (Remdy)

We All Need It To Be Okay

Trigger warnings: Depression, suicide, self harm, death

Remington walks away from his brothers with wet eyes, not looking back for a final time because if he were to do that, he'd never leave. He puts his hand on the front door handle, takes in a breath, and opens it. 

When he steps out, the surrounding area blurs into nothing and, holding on to the way hugging them felt, he is thrown back into life. 

* * * 

The hospital room is quiet. As quiet as a hospital room can possibly be, and Andy is sitting in the chair by the bed, unable to relax. Remington's body is half-numb, his left arm heavy, as though a rod of iron is inside it, and he opens his eyes, squints, covers them with the back of his right wrist, groans. 

Andy straightens, then leans forwards. If Remington were to look at him, he'd notice the obvious evidence of recent tears. The man is quiet. He has to take a moment to settle his mind, to push away the horrible conclusion he had started picturing the moment he saw the blood on his fingers. "Hey, sweetie," he then says softly, tries to sound at least a little more composed than he feels.

Remington looks at him wearily, the same way he did when the man came to help him after their break up. He blinks multiple times. When he remembers what he did last night, he can still feel the awful pain of the kitchen knife, the fuzziness of blood-loss, but above any of that, he feels the relief. Knowing he was going to be able to see them again, that overruled any amount of physical pain. 

"You ruined my bed sheets," Andy says in an attempt to get at least the trace of a smile. It doesn't work for either of them. If anything, it only makes him feel worse about the situation, because Remington has just tried to kill himself and here he is, making jokes. "How're you feeling?" He asks now. If Remington were to listen, he'd notice the shakiness of his voice. "They said the medication might make you feel a little strange."

Remington continues to look at him. He ignores the question, rubs his eyes again. Turning his head, he breaks the eye contact, and his eyes are teary. He thinks again about what that relief was like, how good it was to feel it so intensely after needing it for so long. He remembers the way his head swam, and he remembers that the swimming was good, because for more than a year, he'd been drowning, fighting to break the surface, and for those minutes before he blacked out, he was swimming, effortless, breathing in crisp air, looking across the rippling water at the perfect sunset. He wanted to swim forever. 

The elder sighs. His eyebrows are furrowed. "They stitched your arm up. Your tattoos are gonna need re-doing over the scars once it's all healed. I'll take you to the get them done if you like."

Still no response from Remington, who closes his eyes and covers them with his right arm. He groans.

"Do you want chocolate from the vending machine or something?" Andy asks. He doesn't know what to say but he speaks anyway. "Maybe something to drink? I have cash on me."

Remington shakes his head. His brothers were right. He knows they were. It's not his time. They'll still be there when it is his time. He should make the most of the life he has been given. And, if nothing else, they deserve to know he is living, is pursuing the dream they shared. He'd do anything to make them happy. 

"Please say something." Trying to be calm is proving difficult. Andy realises as he says it that he sounds like a scared child. He doesn't recall ever feeling this way, not for anyone. Suddenly he hates that he's allowed himself to become such a way. 

There's a long pause from Remington. He moves his left arm slightly, though can barely feel it through all the medication. It's bandaged from his hand all the way up to his shoulder, which isn't a surprise considering the damage he knows he did. After all, that was the entire point of doing it. To cause damage. Finally, he finds his voice, somewhere within the delirium of numbness and confusion. When he speaks, his words are slow, soft. "I'm sorry," he says. "About your bed sheets." 

Andy shakes his head. "Not important. I can get new ones. I meant say something to assure me that you're at least okay enough to say something, because you scared me shitless. I was sat in the waiting room having a panic attack for the half hour before they let me in." A flustered hesitation. "Sorry, I shouldn't make this about me. It's not about me. I've just been so worried about you, and waking up to all that blood and you lying there pale as a ghost really messed with me. Oh God, I'm being so selfish. I'm sorry. I'm gonna shut up now." He runs an uneasy hand through his hair. 

"You care that much?" Remington weakly asks, looking again at the man. Part of him regrets what he did purely because of the effect it's having on Andy. 

"Of course I do." 

"I didn't realise." 

"Why did you do it" 

"You know why." 

"No, I know. I mean..." A sigh. "Why didn't you wake me up? I would've helped you. I don't mean helped you kill yourself, that sounded bad. Fuck, I-"

"Andy," Remington interjects. The elder promptly shuts up. "It's okay." 

"I'm sorry, I feel like I'm being really selfish." 

"Just give me a hug." 

Andy does. He almost cries again, but doesn't allow himself to. It would be selfish to cry over this, over someone else's crisis. It has nothing to do with him. "I'm so worried about you," he murmurs. 

"I know," Remington returns quietly. "I'm worried about me, too." 

"You're gonna be okay, though. You're gonna get help. You'll talk to a therapist and you'll be okay. Everything's gonna be okay." 

Remington knows he's only trying to convince himself, that deep down, Andy is blindingly aware of how not okay everything is and how not okay everything will be. Despite this, he says, "It's gonna be okay," and the words taste bitter as he speaks them.