Secret (Noah Sebastian X Andy Biersack)

7

Trigger Warning: Physical/verbal abuse, self-harm, suicide, depression, anxiety

* * * 

Noah made both Andy and himself sandwiches, sitting at the other end of the dining table so that there was a fairly large gap between them, figured it would make Andy feel slightly less threatened. Not that Noah expected him to not feel threatened by him when all he knew was that if someone was there, they were there to make him do things he didn't want to do, and to hurt him regardless of how compliant he was.

Andy mumbled a thanks for the food, picking up half of his sandwich and beginning to eat it.

Apart from acknowledging his thanks, Noah said nothing. Andy was clearly overwhelmed enough as it was and didn't need to be engaged in conversation unless he wanted to talk. Noah wasn't going to make him feel pressured into anything, specially considering his raw trauma.

He took his phone from his pocket as he ate, had multiple messages from various clients of his, asking for another recording session, or for him to change a small part of their song. He was a music producer, primarily working with rock artists, and had built up quite the name for himself.

As he responded to the simpler requests - Yes, I can take out that specific note; Absolutely, I'll see you for our scheduled session on Thursday; I'm not sure what you're referring to - he was aware that Andy was watching him, and once he had put his phone down, Andy spoke quietly.

"You're gonna make me do it," was what he said, mostly to himself. As though accepting the fact, preparing for it.

Noah looked over at him. "No, no, no, never."

"You're gonna make me do it," repeated Andy.

"No, I would never. Do you need me to go? I don't want to stress you out by being here."

Andy stared at him. He didn't know what to say. Was it a trick question? If he said yes, would Noah laugh and hit him? If he said no, would Noah laugh and hit him? So many times he'd been hit and laughed at. Like his confusion, his pain, was a big fucking joke.

Noah pushed his chair back, stood up.

Andy was visibly frightened, watching him while his eyes widened.  Expecting Noah to walk over to him, to mutter something degrading, to force his mouth open and -

But Noah was walking the other way, not going near him at all.

Andy said nothing. He didn't know what to expect. Maybe Noah would come back into the room and punish him for not doing the right thing. Maybe this entire thing was some sort of sick game manufactured by Jude, and Noah was in on it, was getting off on his fear. Would at some point turn to him and exclaim how fucking pathetic he is. Would grab his jaw and force him onto his knees. 

He listened to the front door close and hesitated. Had Noah gone or was it part of his plan? To pretend to leave and then catch Andy off guard? 

After a few moments, Andy stood and approached the window, watching Noah walking away from the house. He kept waiting for him to tun around and march back towards him, but that didn't happen, and once he couldn't see Noah anymore, he locked the front door and sat back down in the kitchen. 

His heart was thumping. He didn't know if he liked being alone in the house. Jude left him alone a lot. Told him not to go anywhere. Threatened to make him do all sorts of things he didn't want to do, then did them anyway. 

When there was no one there, he didn't know when he would next be hurt. At least with someone in the house, he could see them, could figure out for the most part when they were going to make the move on him. When they'd had enough of not touching him. 

He continued eating. Noah had made him a sandwich. No one ever made him food. No one ever asked if he was hungry. No one ever did anything for him unless it was to coax him into doing something in return. He'd get sick and Jude would demand he made all the meals, would yell and hit and take no notice to his illness.

But Noah had made him a sandwich. Noah had asked, have you eaten? 

Like he cared.

Andy didn't know how to believe that someone cared. Everyone who had ever cared about him was cut off from him. He hadn't seen his parents in three years. He supposed they might have assumed he was off living his best life somewhere without them. Or that he was dead. 

Sometimes he wished he was. 

Once, he tried to be. Tried to cut himself until he couldn't hold the knife anymore. 

Jude suddenly cared about him them. Suddenly wanted him to be okay. Wanted him to heal. An entire month, he was looked after. Bandages changed, food made. Not one fist thrown at him. Not one raised voice. 

But then he recovered and Jude stopped doing all of that, stopped asking how his wounds were. Started giving him more. Black eyes, mainly. Dark, deep bruises. So that he hurt to the touch. Then he'd let other people touch him. Would tell them, he doesn't mind. And Andy would sit there as they had their hands all over him, would do what they wanted of him, and then in the evening, he'd lock himself in the bathroom and cut himself. Because at least that was something he had control over. At least that was something that was his. 

Everyone else may have owned his body, but at least he owned that pain.