Trigger warning: Mentions of depression, suicide, self-harm

The following evening, after a day of staying at home and actively stopping himself from touching the bite marks on his arm, Andy opened the door to his parents. He looked at them without speaking, didn't move to let them in. He had half the mind to tell them to go away. 

"Andrew," his mother said. "We need to talk about how rude you have been to us." 

"Rude," Andy repeated monotonously. 

"Yes. Rude. All you've been is rude." 

"Whatever you want to believe, woman." 

"Don't speak to me like that." 

"Don't call me rude." 

"You are rude." 

"What is it you want exactly? To come in and lecture me on how to be a better son? Because if that's the case, you can stay outside." 

"Andy, just hear us out," Chris said, and Andy shook his head, folded his arms. 

"You may be my parents, but that does not make you my friends. At least, not right fucking now. Here's how it is, alright. No, mother. Listen. No speaking. Here's how it is. I have depression. You know that. I tried a few years ago to kill myself. You also know that. So surely, because of that knowledge, you would be able to understand why, after a second suicide attempt, I don't want to hear all the ways that I disappoint you. What you said to me in the hospital and what you said to me two days ago hurt. It hurt. And I'm sorry if you find that hard to believe because I'm supposed to be mister big scary boss man, but it's true. You hurt me. You made me cry, and then you made me bite myself. Alright? You made me bite myself. No. Don't speak. Shut your mouth and listen. You totally ignored what I was - am - dealing with. You totally overlooked my frankly awful mental state, and you made me feel like my life isn't worth living, because why would I want to live if my own parents are disappointed in me?" 

"Andy-" 

"No. Shut it. Why would I want to waste my time listening to you two ranting about how I could be better, should be better, when I've had the worst fucking week and I just want to not talk about it? Do you realise how awful what you said to me was? Do you have any idea how much it has fucked with me? Need I repeat that I bit myself?" 

"You bit yourself," Chris echoed. Andy couldn't tell if it was with sympathy, sarcasm, or scepticism. 

"You want proof? Here you go. Here's proof." He pulled up his sleeve, lifted his arm so the wound was unmissable. "You," he spat. "You made me do this. After you left my office, I felt so done, so...useless, that all I could do was bite myself to try and stay fucking calm. Because of you. So don't you dare show up at my house preaching about being kind and whatever the fuck when you made me feel like I should fucking die. Again!" 

"You do not get to lay the blame on us, Andrew." 

"Why not? Why not, mother, when it is your fault? It is. Everyone else who knows about it treats me with some fucking respect. Even my fucking husband, who was forced to marry me, treats me better than you do. You, my fucking parents! So what? I can't blame you just because you're my parents? You think that's fair? You think it's fine for you to show up and yell at me, but hell, if I do it in return, how dare I? No. No. I'm not taking that shit from you! Fucking leave me alone until you've learned how to be better parents! Good damn fucking bye, mother fuckers!" Andy slammed the door, turned the lock, and walked away. 

In the kitchen, he sat at the table, dropped his head onto the wooden surface. He hated shouting, hated even more that he'd just shouted at his parents. And he knew they were right, too. He was rude, perhaps more so than he first realised. 

His phone buzzed. It was a text from his mother which he didn't open, instead flung his phone at the fridge and watched it shatter, then stood, kicked the chair so it clattered into the one beside it, and once the room was quiet again, he filled the silence by kicking the toppled chairs across the tiled floor. They slid into a cupboard door, and he yanked one of the ground and threw it down again. 

He needed to break something, anything, but before he had the chance, there was a voice from the doorway that said, "Andy, stop. You're gonna hurt yourself." 

Andy did stop, and turned to face Remington. He hadn't realised until now that he was crying, plump tears dripping off his chin. He didn't lift a hand to wipe them away, didn't see the point. Again, his fingers had found the bitemarks on his arm, and he picked furiously at the damaged skin until Remington took both his hands and held them. Then Andy just stared. 

"Whatever it is," Remington said in a level voice which sounded the opposite of how Andy was feeling. "Whatever it is, it's gonna be okay. You just need to calm down, okay? Before you hurt yourself. You're gonna be alright." 

The wetness in his eyes was like looking through a car window in the middle of a downpour. Everything was smudgy. "Why do you care?" 

"Because how could I not? Andy, you're phenomenal. You're literally the best person I've ever met." 

Andy blinked. "I ruined your life, Remington." He said the words like he'd committed a crime, like he was guilty of murdering Remington's entire family. 

"No. No, Andy. They ruined my life, you gave it back to me. Don't you see that? Don't you see how happy I am here? You give me everything I ever could have wanted, and you're gentle and you make me laugh and I feel safe. I didn't feel safe like this before I met you. I lived in a rough neighbourhood where knife violence was common gossip. People I knew were stabbed. People who live just a few metres from me. Andy, you didn't ruin anything. You're the best thing that ever happened to me." Remington looked at their hands. "Please don't think you've ruined my life." 

Following his gaze, Andy too looked at their hands. His were trembling. "I-I feel like everyone wishes I was - I was someone else. Someone not like me." 

"If anyone thinks that, I'll track them down and stick every inch of their skin with drawing pins until they look like the fucking tin man," Remington said. Almost the exact thing Andy had said about Gregory. 

Andy begun to sob, shaking his head as though the action would eliminate any sort of emotion. His hands were released and he had a sudden fear that Remington's wasn't there at all, but then he was being hugged and all he could do was sob harder.