Paul's Point:

I knew he wasn't okay. When I first saw him, his skin raw and bleeding in his frantic rage, I knew that this was going to be a long healing process. I never thought, however, that I would find him in such a state.

The room was destroyed, the books splayed over the floor and the walls damaged. The desk was half-bent, the chair broken into various parts. Worst was him, however, who was in the center of the room. His hands were bleeding, his face red and scratched. His eyes were red and swollen, frantic as he darted between our faces. His bed clothes were torn again, revealing the wounds from the afternoon. Even the Father hissed in surprise at the sight, the one he so easily dismissed.

Adonis was silent, horribly so. He left before anything could be done and I was tasked with bringing Adam back to the infirmary while the Father went to find the brother who had aided Adam prior.

He was weak against me, not even attempting to fight as I dragged him to the infirmary like a ragdoll. I shouldered the door open, lugging Adam over onto the cot. He was muttering, whimpering between soft sobs. What hurt him so badly? I held his hand, sweaty and bloodstained, and didn't even think that prayer would help this. He seemed beyond any help, I had warned the Father that he did need help and now the words of myself and the brother were cold fact.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly, squeezing his hand as he twisted on the bed in a whimpering, sniveling mess. It was only a few minutes before the Father came back, the brother stalking behind him. The brother didn't even bother to hide his disdain at the Father for commending this to the "given suffering" when Adam was clearly in a deep, emotional distress. The brother pushed past the Father, entering into the room to check on Adam.

"Adam, you're okay. Come, you're safe here," he said, trying to comfort Adam down from his state but it didn't seem to help.

"He's in the same state as this afternoon," he turned to look at the Father, "did you, by any chance, read his file before he came here?"

"Only vaguely," the Father confessed, holding onto his rosary as he watched the scene unfold before him.

"Did it happen to mention any psychiatric disorders? Especially ones with anxiety?"

"As said, vaguely," he repeated. The brother sucked on his teeth, walking to his own desk where he pulled up the notes from this afternoon. After a few minutes, the tense air only being broken by the gradually softer whimpers of Adam.

"There you go," I praised quietly, hoping to comfort Adam further from his daze. He was now just lying on the cot, staring upwards beyond the roof. Eventually, the brother broke the silence as he came forward with a sedative that was softer than the one from this afternoon, not wanting Adam to become addicted or too distant.

"Hey, Adam, how are you feeling?"

Adam didn't answer, looking at the brother. The brother chewed on the inside of his cheek, his eyes shifting as he realized what had occurred. He went to my side, putting the tablet in my hand.

"Brother Paul has something that can help you. Would you be willing to take it?"

Adam nodded slowly. With a reassuring smile, the brother walked to the head of the cot and helped get Adam to sit up. I held out the tablet, and Adam stared at it for a few seconds before taking it and putting it under his tongue.

"That's good, just keep it there."

The brother moved to get the first aid kit, gently running his finger across Adam's hand to test the waters. Nodding, he then took the hand in his and slowly worked with the tweezers to get rid of the splinters that pierced Adam's skin.

In the light of the room, the blood was more noticeable, and he looked as though he had shoved his hand into a shredder. I swallowed uneasily and saw that the Father was still waiting at the door, praying silently, the St. Michael's Prayer to be exact. I narrowed my eyes at him, but he carried on.

"Hey, Adam," I said, trying to gain the attention of the distant monk, "do you know what happened?"

Adam turned to look at me. Despite his otherwise unnerving calm, his eyes were strained. They were still red and swollen, his face scratched slightly from his frantic movements.

"It's okay, Adam," I reassured him, rubbing his free hand while the Brother began disinfecting his other hand. He let out a small hiss as the disinfectant burned his wounds before settling down. Then, it was just to bandage the hand before the whole process was repeated on the other.

I couldn't hold his hand then, and Adam continued to look at me distantly as the brother worked on the other hand. I had then remembered that Adonis was still not present. He was there, but I understand that this situation would've warded off a guest. This entire situation was strange.

I knew Adam had his occasional fits. He was prone to mood swings but most of us just said it was his "nature". I mean, some of our saints had anger issues. Saint James and John were called "Sons of Thunder" for heaven's sake. The only issue is that this wasn't a religious fervor, nor was it just simple anger. It was one thing for Adam to become easily frustrated and annoyed, prone to just standard bursts of rage. It was a completely different thing for Adam to break down like this. I think, in my entire journey here, I've only seen him cry twice.

Seeing him like this was like seeing someone you admired fall to a sickness that you couldn't help. It was like seeing a parent slowly waste away.

"What would you recommend, then?" The Father broke the silence. The brother and I turned to look at him. The brother sighed, finishing his work before standing up.

"Are you going to be okay, Adam?"

He simply nodded, but the Brother didn't looked too convinced. Eventually, we were both outside with the Father, not too far from the door.

"He's dealing with disassociation right now. He experienced emotional stress that his brain went into its fight or flight response. I told you that he needed help from outside."

"I didn't know it was going to be this bad," the Father snapped.

"No one knows, which is why it is best to catch it as soon as symptoms like this show themselves. Do you think you can immediately tell, especially with a probable mental disorder?"

"It isn't my fault that he broke down," the Father hissed, looking to me for aid.

"It isn't his fault either. Mental disorders generally just act, that's how they work. Still, we need to get him help."

"Fine, I'll make a call to a hospital later today. We'll need to seal off the study because of this."

"We will also need to make sure that he doesn't have anything in his cell that he can use," the Brother said, turning to look at me. I understood what I needed to do and nodded.

"How long do these disassociations last?" The Father asked, rubbing his temple tiredly.

"For some people, life is just one large disassociation episode. I think he'll probably come back to after a few hours, but we need to find out what caused this. I don't think this would be some form of sickness or something in his cell though."

"As you said, you think it's a mental illness."

"It's the only logical conclusion outside of an issue with his brain and nerves themselves."

The two went back and forth and I knew that this conversation had long escaped me. So I returned to the infirmary and sat on the cot next to the still distant Adam. It was like he was sleeping while awake. I wrapped my arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. He looked up at me before slumping into the touch as I rubbed his shoulder.

"You'll be okay, I promise," I vowed, still unsure myself. This entire situation was outlandish, but I knew I'd be there to help him. I just hoped it would be enough to be there. I heard him let out a soft sniffle as I rubbed his shoulder. I don't think this will be an easy journey.

Eventually, the Brother came in and slumped into the desk chair, watching us from over his monitor.

"It will take a while, but I hope you can be more patient than the Father," he muttered as he swiveled back and forth on the chair. I nodded, turning to look down at the cold and small figure at my side.

"Is there anything specific that you want me to look for?"

The Brother thought for a minute, before bending forward. He rested his head on his hand, leaning against the desk.

"Quite frankly, I don't know. I just hope we can help him."

"As do I," I responded slowly, looking down at him again.