'I'm always here if you need help, y’know? And I'm not the only one. If you're not coping on your own-'
'I'm coping. I'm stressed but I'm not going to pieces.'
'Fine. But if you start to not cope at some point in the future there's people who can help. Me, Adam, Chas, Diane. We’re all here for you. You're not an island, Robert.'
After Aaron is sentenced, Robert's mental health deteriorates.
It starts as an itch. A twinge buried deep in his brain that he can’t scratch. It’s nothing new. It’s always there. Always has been there. He just hasn’t really thought about it much recently. It would sneak up on him sometimes, when he was drifting between sleep and waking, that liminal space where nothing really makes sense anyway. It’s not a voice. He doesn’t hear voices. It’s a feeling. Something like dread but not quite that. A presence lurking just out of view that he doesn’t really understand. Most of the time he can ignore it, bury himself in his work or his love life, never let the world around him get quiet.
When Aaron is sentenced to 12 months behind bars, everything falls silent.
Except that one thing.
It may not be a voice, but it becomes the loudest thing in his life.