Trigger Warning: Depression, suicide, physical/emotional abuse

Remington watched Andy shake for the whole of the day that followed. He told stories of people he had tattooed, but got little response, and when he left in the early evening, he had the feeling of something being very, very wrong. 

There had been a change in Andy's expression that was unlike anything Remington had seen before. It was as though he was distant and startled all at once, watching everything happen around him in such a way that reminded Remington of animals in a cage. There because they had no other choice. 

He had to work for the five days after, and when finally he could return to the hospital, he did so to a man who introduced himself as Andy's doctor and who took Remington into an empty ward. He then, with hesitation, asked, "Are you familiar with the term 'catatonic depression'?" 

Remington stared at him. He had hardly slept the night before, had been sat with his laptop, blindly googling different symptoms of PTSD, trying to work out just what had happened for Andy to seem so 'gone'. "What?" He blinked. It felt lately as though he was in a constant daze. His brothers had pointed it out, too, when they went for lunch together. Remington had been supposed to scold them for the way they had burst in that night and frightened Andy, but found he was too sleepy and pre-occupied to do so. They had asked frequently that day if he was alright, and of course, he told them, yes, he was fine. "Cata-what?" 

"Catatonic depression. It's a condition where the patient completely withdrawals from reality." 

"Okay?" He knew why this information was important. Of course, he did. But he thought, maybe, that if he pretended to be oblivious, then everything would be okay. Then he could go back to sleeping with ease, to worrying about little other than the design he had to draw and the difficult customer who demanded a refund for a mistake that wasn't there.  

"Remington, I fear this is the state of Andy at this present time." 

"What?" 

The doctor - his name was Graham - sighed. "It can happen to people who have been through a very traumatic experience. Are you aware of anything that might have triggered this, so we can work out bringing him out of it?" 

"I..." Remington shook his head. It was starting to hurt. "I mean, he's been abused. A lot. But not-not recently. The guy's in jail now, so...Look, is he okay, though? Is he gonna be okay?" 

"We're yet to find out the course of Andy's injuries, Remington. Do you know anything about what might have happened?" 

"I don't know. Suicide attempt, probably." 

"You think he'd have sliced the inside of his own mouth?" 

"How should I know!" Remington dropped his head down. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I'm sorry. I'm just...tired. And worried. And now I'm thinking-now I'm thinking, what if he never went to court. What if he dropped the case?" 

"You mean that his abuser may have gotten to him last week?" 

"I don't...fuck. Yes. Yes. I mean that. Holy shit, why didn't he go to court? Why wouldn't he..." Taking a heaved breath, Remington brought his hands to his face. He wanted to scoop out his brain and leave it in a jar until he was ready to use it again; he wanted to sleep for a long time. He wanted to go out and get drunk and have sex with a random girl. He wanted to do anything he could to avoid thinking about the horrible situation that he was in the middle of. "I mean, he kept telling me. He kept saying, 'I can't go to court. I'm the guilty one'. And I told him, I said he had to go. I told him he had done nothing wrong and he deserved justice. And I thought he agreed, I thought he changed his mind, and then I didn't see him for a while, and I just-I assumed he was there. You know. At court. I assumed he was getting that piece of fucking shit locked up. But-but what if he wasn't? What if he...No, no, why wouldn't he go? Why would he put himself through it all over again?" 

"If you're seriously thinking that Andy's abuser has gotten to him last week, Remington, we're going to have to take action. Is this what you're saying?"

"I think so. Yes." He coiled his hair around his fingers and sighed. Fuck his brothers' party, fuck the rule about not sleeping around, he was allowed to do whatever the hell he wanted.