SHOUTOUT TIME:
There is an amazing book called Cogent (A Harry Styles Fanfiction) by @lovelyhaz (to whom I dedicated this imagine to!
Go read, comment, vote and shoutout? It deserves more popularity!
Proceed :)
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"(Y/N), are you even listening to me?" You mother cuts your string of thoughts, as you look out the window.
"Not talking as usual," You heard her say through gritting her teeth and you mentally roll your eyes at her.
Ever since your father died right in front of your eyes, you were too traumatized to talk to anyone anymore.
Your friends were tired of your constant crying and weak mental state, so they cut you off from them and no one wanted to talk to you since then. You would get bullied and picked on, but you never did anything about it, nor did you talk to anyone.
So, your mother decided to take you to a psychiatrist , to get you talking. You didn't care much, as long as it would stop your mother from picking on you about saying a word or two.
"Here we are," Your mother exhales, as she pulled up in front of a white building.
She leads you inside the building and gets seated in the waiting room.
As soon as the receptionist called your surname, both you and your mother stand up and head to the awaited room.
"Excuse me, but only the patient is allowed," The receptionist stops you both and ignores your mother's glare.
"She's my daughter," Your mother argues, but the receptionist merely shook her head.
"The patient must feel comfortable," The receptionist explains and your mother returns to her chair, looking defeated.
You hesitate at first, but confidently knock at the door before opening it.
You're greeted by a blast of cool air, which smelt of a little male cologne.
"Hello (Y/N)," A deep British voice startles you, as your eyes land on a guy no older than 20.
"I'm Zayn, I know I look a little different than normal doctors," The guy chuckles, your eyes subconsciously moving to his visible chest, through his half-opened shirt.
You take a seat in front of his desk, at his command, and realize he looked even more handsome up close.
"I was told you won't speak?" Zayn asks, his soft hazel eyes searching yours.
You simply nod, proving his words correct.
You couldn't help but drown his words, as your gaze traced each visible tattoo on his well-built body. Your eyes scanned his arms, and stopped to stare at his large biceps, which flexed with each hand movement he made.
".So if you could just write about it..." Your attention is returned to him, and you accept the notepad and pen from his hand.
You let out a deep breath, as your hand firmly held the pen, its tip barely touching the paper.
Zayn's eyes meet yours, and they were filled with determination and confidence.
You started to write everything, how your father had died trying to save you, its aftermath, the bullies, your ex-friends, and a few sobs and tears escaped as your pen skimmed the pages with ink.
