Trigger warning

It's weird for Andy to be sitting in front of a therapist. He never thought it'd come to this. The room is unfamiliar. It's got one dark red wall and the rest are off-white, various paintings and photographs hug up. He's sitting on a leather sofa that has a black cushion leaning against each armrest, and he waits for the woman to talk. She must be only about twenty five, Andy thinks. Definitely young. Maybe Remington's age.

"Hi, Andy," she starts, after closing the door and sitting down. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Dr Winterson. You can call me Sloane if you prefer. We're gonna start very simply, okay, just so I can get to know you a little bit."

Andy smiles. "Hi," he responds, "this is kinda weird for me."

The girl nods in understanding. "Have you had therapy before?"

He shakes his head. "Remington has a therapist, though."

"Who's Remington?"

"Oh, he's my husband."

Sloane smiles at that information. "How long have you been married?"

"Nearly two years. We're going to Greece in two weeks for our anniversary."

"That's great," she says, glad that he's talking to her and not doing what some new patients do and just shrugging. "Tell me about Remington and your relationship."

Thinking about the boy makes Andy smile. "He's literally perfect. We have a great relationship. We're so supportive and understanding of eachother."

Sloane hums. She's writing something down. "Does he know that you're here today?"

Andy raises an eyebrow. "Why wouldn't he?"

"Well some people don't tell their partners that they're going to therapy because they think it's something to be ashamed of."

"Oh, we're not like that. We don't hide things."

"That's good, Andy. Relationships like that are important. What made you come today?"

Andy looks down. "I tried to kill myself four days ago," he answers, not seeing any point in hiding it. "And Remington's therapist made sure I got help. So here I am, getting help."

The girl notices his mannerisms. "Have you had suicidal thoughts for a long time?"

"No, not really."

"Do you think there's a reason why you've been feeling suicidal recently? Did something happen?"

"No, I just started feeling kinda...sad, I guess. I don't know. It's confusing." He crosses his legs and sighs. "I thought I could deal with it on my own and I was wrong."

"Would you say you're scared of asking for help?"

Andy shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe. Yes? I don't find it easy, as such. I feel like I'm supposed to be the one looking out for everyone else, you know?"

"I see. How are you feeling now? Are you still having suicidal thoughts?"

The man hesitates before answering. It feels odd to be telling a stranger about things he finds hard to tell Remington . "Sometimes."

"Do you regret attemtping?"

"Yes, but then sometimes, no. It's a mess, honestly. I keep trying to talk to Remington about it but I can't because I don't even know what I wanna say. Does that make sense?"

Sloane smiles and nods. "Yeah, that makes sense."

"I think I know what my problems are, I just have no idea how to handle them."

"What do you think your problems are?"

Andy can see why Remington likes therapy now. It's nice to be able to talk to someone about whatever it is that's on his mind without feeling like a burden. "I'm bad at accepting or asking for help, I worry about others instead of myself, and I feel like my issues aren't as important as Remington's because he's been through shit and I haven't, so I kinda convince myself that it doesn't matter." He looks at his phone when it buzzes in his pocket.

At the shop, do you want anything??

Not that I can think of. Don't forget cat food

Okay cool, see you soon darling. xx

"I know that it does matter, I just find it hard to remember that when something is wrong, you know?"

"I'm sure that's something we can work on."

Andy smiles. It's comforting to hear her say that. "I hope so. I've got a question."

"Yeah?"

"So," he begins, putting his phone away, "how am I meant to not act on any urges I get? Because everytime I've had urges I've not been able to not act on them, so..."

His phone buzzes again.
I kinda accidentally bought die pills

Okay, don't take any. Give them to me when I get home. I'll get rid of them.

sorry

don't apologise. it's okay. thanks for telling me.

Sloane waits for him to look up from the screen before talking. "Who're you texting?"

"Remington."

"Fighting urges is hard, Andy. Specially when you're not talking to anyone about it. It's always easier to tell someone that you get these urges so they can help you with it."

Andy sighs. "I did tell someone but I still fucking cut a vein and overdosed, so I don't fucking know what I'm doing wrong."

The woman shakes her head. "You're not doing anything wrong. You're just struggling with things in your head and that's what I'm gonna help you with, okay?"

"How?"

"By talking to you about it and being here, and if it's necesarry, by prescribing you medication to help."

"Okay."

Sloane feels for him. She can see he's unsure of what he's feeling and understands how disconcerting that is. "Tell me how you're feeling today."

"Well, if Remington wasn't home today I'd probably cut a vein again, so...not good?"

"Do you rely on Remington to keep you from harming yourself? And when you attempted, was he there?"

"I wouldn't say I rely on him, I just feel better with him around," Andy explains, "and no, he wasn't there. We had a fight that morning and he left because I said something that triggered him and he went to his brother. Technically it was my fault that it happened."

Shaking her head, Sloane leans forwards so her elbows are in her knees. "You can't blame yourself. It's not your fault. It's not one's fault."

Andy frowns. "But it has to be someone's fault, right? This can't be happening for no reason. That's fucking depressing."

"You feel vulnerable and scared, Andy, and that's okay. There doesn't have to be a reason for why you felt, in that moment, that you had to do what you did. You don't need to justify why you did it. It happened and that's what matters. Whether something caused it or not, you felt, and perhaps you still do feel, like you couldn't go on any longer. That is okay. "

"I didn't think it was that bad," Andy tells her, and sighs. "I thought that if I just kept cutting myself then it would get better because the pain made me forget how I was feeling. It just kept getting worse., though, and I don't know why. And that's scary. Because there must be a reason. There has to be."  He looks down. "I thought...I thought that if I told everyone I was fine then I really was fine. You know, like, if everyone else believed it then it must be true."

"Did everyone believe it?"

The man shakes his head with a dry laugh. "No. My friend, Lonny, kept telling me to talk to Remington and Remington kept asking what was wrong and I kept telling them nothing was wrong even though it was, and I think I said it enough that I didn't even know what was true anymore."

Sloane leans back in her chair. "You were overwhelmed," she concludes, "and it was easier to pretend that you were fine than to confront what's going on. Does that sound right?"

Andy nods.

"I'm gonna give you a little booklet to fill in when you have some free time, just so I can understand better how you repond to certain situations and such, okay?"

"Okay." He watches her open a drawer and takes what she hands him, and, on the drive home, smiles to himself, because talking to her made him feel safe, and he realises that's exactly how Remington feels about Abigail. A safe space he can go to and know he won't be judged or dismissed. Someone who can help.

Remington is sitting on the couch in just boxers when Andy gets home, and straight away throws the bottle of diet pills at the man, who is pleased to see the seal hasn't been broken and Remington hasn't taken any.

"Why no clothes?" Andy asks, amused. "And I'm proud of you for not taking any."

Smiling and putting his phone down, Remington stands up. "I spilled orange juice all down myself and was gonna change but only got as far as taking my clothes off, so..."

"So you're putting on a show for the neighbours?" Andy jokes, even though the curtains are clearly drawn shut. He knows Remington is too self conscious to ever show anyone apart from him his body.

The boy hits Andy's arm. "You're an idiot. How was therapy? Did it go okay?"

"It was great, actually. Thank Abigail for me, okay?" He kisses Remington briefly, playfully pulling back the waistband of his boxers and letting it snap onto Remington's skin.

"That wasn't nice," Remington pouts, though it breaks into a grin. "It was great? That's great!"

"Mhm. How about you, beautiful? How was the shop?"

"Well," Remington begins, drawing out the word. "Someone nearly ran me over with their car."

"Right?"

"Yeah, I was crossing the road after the traffic lights turned red and this car just, like, drove straight through the lights and nearly hit me." He let's Andy push him down onto the sofa. "So I stuck my middle fingers up at them." After saying this, Remington grins like a child.

"I knew there was a reason I loved you."

"Haha. I bet you think you're funny, huh?"

"The funniest. I could be a comedian, sweetheart."

Remington smiles and pokes Andy's side. "The only thing they'd laugh at is your face, darling."

Andy glares at his husband, shaking his head, unimpressed.

"I'm kidding. You're very pretty."

The older laughs. "You're just too adorable for your own good," he says, "I was about to ask if you had lunch but realised that's probably a stupid question."

"I have not. And yes, stupid question. Why would I choose to eat?"

"Well now I'm gonna make you eat, sunshine. What would you like? Pasta? Chicken?"

"Nothing, ideally," he says with puppy eyes. "Okay, fine, pasta is fine, if I must."  The boy crosses his arms and glares at Andy dramatically.

"You must, my precious baby." Andy kisses Remington again, ruffles his unspiked hair, and stands up. And smiles, because today has been better than the recent days. Today he feels like there might be hope.

And that's a damn good feeling.