Trigger Warning: Verbal/physical abuse, depression, anxiety, self-harm/injury, suicide

* * * 

It was difficult to know whether Andy felt unwell because of his painful black eye, among other injuries, or if he actually was ill. He'd gotten so used to feeling some sort of off that it didn't matter so much anymore what the problem was. Or at least, it didn't matter while Jude was around; Andy didn't have much time to worry about what sickness he might have obtained when he was constantly paranoid of what Jude would do next. 

But now Jude wasn't there, and though of course he was still extremely stressed about him coming back, or about someone else getting inside and hurting him, he was alone. Usually when he was home alone, he'd know the time Jude would be back, and the day would be spent dreading his return, trying to slow down time, to do anything he could to delay what he knew was going to happen. 

Now he didn't know if or when Jude would possibly be back, and all he could focus on was how incredibly unwell he felt. Beyond the injuries that were making his head pound and his body ache, something was just wrong. Walking up and down the stairs was more effort than he had in him, like all at once his body had given up, had finally decided enough was enough. He couldn't do it anymore. 

It had been a week since Noah had last been there. Each day was slightly less manageable than the last, not that they were ever particularly manageable to begin with. Andy struggled to do the things he knew he should have done easily, substituted basic self-care tasks for self-sabotage. Cutting himself, mainly. 

He'd get overwhelmed because he couldn't face the thought of making dinner or washing up a mug, and the only way he knew to calm himself down was through physical pain. But even that got less effective as he did it more, and by the end of the week, all he had accomplished was an almost constantly bleeding arm and a headache so painful he couldn't turn on a light or open the curtains without crying. 

The banging started while he was in the living room in the dark, lying on the couch because he didn't know if he had it in him to go up to his bed. 

He flinched hard at the sound. Thought for a moment he was making it up in his mind, some sick joke on himself. But it was real. Someone was trying to get in, and god did they sound angry. 

Andy knew who it was. Wished he didn't. Wished he could kid himself into believing it was a stranger come to rob the house. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. If he didn't open the door, the banging would continue, and his head was painful enough without that. But if he opened it, then he would be faced with a very, very angry man who had more than a week of punishments in him just itching to be used. 

Andy wasn't sure he could take any more punishments. Wasn't sure he could take anymore anything. 

The sound was horrifying. His heart was beating so fast he couldn't keep up with it, hot, panicked tears dripping down his face so that his skin seemed to sting. He felt in his pocket for his phone. Thankfully it was there and he hadn't left it somewhere else in the house.

 Remembering what Noah had told him - if he shows up and you need help, shoot me a text - Andy opened their conversation. He sent a short message, couldn't look at the screen very long without his eyes protesting, making the throbbing in his head worse. 

Andy: Hes here

Noah: Omw 

He had replied so fast Andy didn't quite believe it. 

How long it would take Noah, Andy didn't know. He had no idea where he lived or worked but hoped it was within walking distance. Jude was attacking the door so violently it sounded like it would break off the hinges. Andy felt sick. 

Well, more sick. 

He pulled his knees up into his chest and dropped his head down, pressing his hands hard over his ears to try and drown it out. It was a challenge to breathe when he couldn't stop sobbing. 

Then the noise stopped. 

Andy slowly dropped his hands from his head and picked up his phone. Noah had sent another text which read: He's gone. Do you need anything while I'm here? 

Andy replied: Thankyou. Yes. I'll unlock the door. 

It took longer than he would have liked to get up from the couch and to the door, and he hesitated with his hand on the lock. Thought, what if it was part of the plan? What if he'd open it, and Jude would be outside with a horrible smile? 

He thought back to what Noah had done for him already. Tried not to paint him in a bad light because of something he hadn't done.

He turned the lock and opened the door. The sunlight made his headache considerably worse, and the discomfort must have been obvious because Noah said, "Hey, Andy. I'm so sorry about what just happened. My friend's dealing with him. Do you need to lie down? You look really unwell." 

Andy stepped back from the doorway. "Do you - can you - can you come in?" 

"Sure," Noah said, moving slowly, letting Andy move backwards without mentioning it. He closed the door without letting it slam. "You don't look very well," he said gently. "Can I get you some water?"

"He was so loud," Andy mumbled, barely able to speak through his crying. 

"I know. I'm so sorry. That must have been so scary. Why don't we go and sit down?" 

"No, please, don't - I don't - I can't - I don't wanna - I don't wanna do it..."

"No, no, no. You don't need to do it. You just look like you could do with sitting down, that's all I mean. I'm sorry it came across like a threat. I'd never, ever do that." 

Dragging a shaking hand across his wet eyes, Andy said nothing. He didn't know what to believe but wanted so desperately to trust Noah.

It didn't matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop crying, couldn't make himself breathe properly. 

Noah wasn't sure what to do. Andy looked on the verge of fainting but he could hardly do or say anything that would sound pressuring, even if it was just to encourage him to sit down. 

Eventually, Andy stuttered, "Okay. Sorry." 

"You're okay. It's not your fault." Recalling the last time he was there, Noah went first towards the living room, since Andy needed to see him and couldn't do that if he was behind. He sat on one of the two couches; Andy sat on the other. "How about some water?" He asked. 

Andy nodded after a few moments, watching Noah leave the room and return with a pint glass of cold water. He picked it up from the coffee table and it shook in his hand as he sipped it. He realised Noah hadn't turned the light on or opened the curtains and was grateful for it. 

"Have you been hurting yourself?" Noah asked, could see rather nasty looking wounds on his arm even in the dark. 

Andy looked at him, whispered into the glass, "A lot." 

"Can I help?"

"Okay." 

"I'm gonna find some painkillers, you haven't taken any recently have you?"

Andy shook his head. 

"Alright. I'll be right back." 

Noah left the room again. While he was gone, Andy continued sipping the water and doing what he could to calm his breathing. 

With the painkillers, antiseptic wipes and a packet of chocolate biscuits he found in the cupboard, Noah sat on the edge of the coffee table and put everything beside him. He opened the biscuits and said, "Sugar might help you feel a little better. Specially if you've not eaten for a while." 

Andy hesitated before taking one. 

"Can I touch your arm?" Noah asked. 

"Okay." 

"You can pull away if you need to, I won't stop you." 

"Okay." 

Noah took an antiseptic wipe, holding Andy's arm with one hand and gently tending to the cuts with the other. "It might sting," he warned. "I'm so sorry if it does. Oh, the ibuprofen is here if you want to take two." 

Andy did, then finished eating the biscuit while watching Noah's hands on his arm. "Thanks," he mumbled. 

"Of course. I'm not hurting you?" 

"Apart from the - the stinging, no." 

"I'm sorry about that. Help yourself to more biscuits if you want." 

"Noah?" 

"Yeah?" 

"I think - I think I'm gonna kill myself." 

Noah glanced up from his arm to his face and they eyes made contact. "Do you want to talk about it?" 

"I don't know." 

"That's okay. You don't have to. But if you need someone to listen to you, I will, okay?" 

Andy nodded.  

"And I completely understand why you're feeling like you need to do something like that to yourself." 

"You - you do?" 

"You've been put through so much, and you must be in so much physical and mental pain all the time. Of course you want it to stop. I can't sit here and tell you what to do because you've had enough of that, I know you have. But just know that everything he's done to you has never been your fault and you absolutely don't deserve to be in the position that you are. And if you decide to end your life, you'll never get the chance to be more than what he's belittled you into. But it's your choice, it's your body, and I'm not going to force you to keep living if you just can't even face the idea of it anymore." Noah took a clean antiseptic wipe from the packet. 

Andy took another biscuit. He didn't know how to react to that. It was so foreign for someone to be acknowledging his suffering, for someone to be validating how he was feeling. He didn't reply, just kept watching Noah's hands.