Trigger Warning: Depression, physical/verbal abuse, self-harm, injury

"Can I get you anything?" Noah asked. It was past midnight and Andy was still sitting on the floor. 

Andy wanted to sleep, but he hadn't done that properly in what felt like years. It was impossible to relax when he was constantly hurting, constantly frightened of what would happen to him next. He shook his head. 

"Do you want to go to bed?" Then, quickly realising how his question could be taken, Noah clarified, "Just you, I mean. Do you want to sleep in your bed on your own?" 

Moving, Andy tried to find a position that wasn't so painful, but his body was sore no matter what he did. "Can I?" He asked weakly. "You're not - you won't-?" 

"No. No, of course not. Never. I'll go home so you don't need to worry about it, okay? You can lock all the doors. I'll leave Jude's key with you." 

Andy watched him speak, like he was looking for something fake in his words, like he couldn't possibly believe that Noah was actually going to just let him sleep. "You will?" 

Noah nodded. "No one will be able to get in; Jude doesn't have a key. I took it. And I'll give it to you, so I won't have one, either. See?" Noah took the key from his back pocket and placed it down on the coffee table. 

Staring at it, then at Noah, Andy said nothing. It felt like a sick joke. Like Noah would have a key hidden somewhere, would come in while he was asleep and hurt him, mock him. But he wanted so badly to believe him that it hurt, and what right did he have to assume Noah was like the others, to label him as evil and violent? 

How was he supposed to assume otherwise when he had no evidence that kind people even existed anymore? 

Sure, Noah had given him water and painkillers and listened to him, hadn't even touched him, but that easily could have been a ploy. A set-up. A game. Everything was a fucking game to Jude: How far can we push Andy today before he has another meltdown and slices his arm? How much can he take before he vomits, blacks out? What is the limit to his endurance and can we go beyond it? 

Noah could have been a piece in the game. 

Again, Andy asked, "Are you gonna make me do it?" 

Again, Noah replied, "No, never." 

Again, Andy didn't believe him, wished he could. He didn't know if Noah leaving would ease his mind or make him more distressed. At least now, he could see everything Noah was doing, could see the distance between them. If Noah left, Andy wouldn't be able to see him, and then Noah could do anything he pleased. It was easy to creep up on someone who was in constant pain. Easy to hold them down. 

Andy moved again. Even though he'd taken painkillers, he was still hurting. He supposed two little paracetamol tablets could do little for an entire body of bruises. He couldn't keep his eyes dry for long no matter how hard he tried, and by now, trying was becoming exhausting. He needed to be free of pain, free of paranoia, for just a few minutes. Just a small piece of relief. But he couldn't. 

Noah stood from where he was sitting on the ground. Andy watched him, convinced this was the time he was going to lunge for him.

But Noah didn't go near him. He left the room, returned minutes later with a piece of paper in hand, and said, "I'm gonna leave you my phone number and the number of a charity who take calls about anything you need to talk about. So if you need someone to listen who won't even know what you look like, you can call them. They'll talk to you for as long as you need. And if you need anything, you can message me, or you can ignore my number and never see me again. It's completely your choice. I'm gonna make sure Jude doesn't come back, and I'll do that regardless of whether I hear from you again or not." He placed the paper by the key. "I'm gonna go now. I hope you can get some sleep. I couldn't find anymore painkillers so I'll buy you some. I'll put them through the letterbox tomorrow morning, okay?" 

Picking up the half-empty glass of water, Andy took a sip, didn't take his eyes off Noah. "Okay," he mumbled. 

"Take care." He began for the door. 

Andy said hesitantly, "Noah?" 

Noah turned around, smiled. "Yeah?" 

"Thank you," Andy said. He meant it. Noah had spent a considerable amount of time with him and hadn't even threatened to do anything to hurt him. That was unheard of. 

"You're welcome." 

Andy watched him leave, looked through the gap in the curtains to see him walking away, and then went to lock the door. He couldn't believe it. Someone had come in the house, listened to him, offered support, and then left. Just like that. No catch. No request for payback.

Andy was desperate to trust him. If he didn't trust Noah, who the hell could he trust? The only people he saw on a regular basis were Jude and Jude's friends, and they got off on his pain. He hadn't spoken to anyone else in years. 

Heaving himself up the stairs, legs screaming, head pounding, he got into bed, his phone in one hand and the slip of paper in the other. The only current contact in his phone was Jude's. He created a second one, titled it, 'Noah (safe?)' and typed in the number on the paper. Maybe he'd never use it, but at least it was there. At least he had the choice. He'd hadn't had one of those for six years. 

Andy lay awake for some time. He wasn't so dehydrated anymore, but he still hurt, and he had absolutely no idea what to do. His boyfriend was gone, he had no contact with any of his friends or family, and he didn't have a fucking clue how to look after himself.

Everything was about getting through it, and now, providing Noah was right and he'd never have to do it again, he didn't need to continue getting through. He was through. But what did that matter if everything about him had been violated and ruined? Who the hell was he?