Recover (Larry Stylinson AU)

Chapter Six; Fridays

"It's funny, the way you can get used to the tears and the pain."
- Anonymous

All day, Harry felt as if someone was going to walk up to him and tell him that there was no use in trying to quit. He felt as if everyone was mocking him, laughing at him and thinking "There's no way he'll make it."

He knew that this was a stupid and unrealistic thought, but he couldn't help it. He felt as if he was exposed and open to the world, for everyone to see. He hadn't cut in a couple of days, and he felt as if he was dying, which was completely illogical, seeing as he definitely did not need self-harm to live. What he needed was food, water, and shelter. And he had all those things, so he shouldn't be feeling as if he was suffocating, but he did feel like it.

It was as if self-harm was his drug, and without it, he would slowly crumble into nothing. 

Basically, Harry was having a very shitty day. And that was why he wished he could skip his appointment with Dr. Tomlinso--Louis, but he couldn't, because he'd promised himself that he would give everything he had into this little "project" of getting better. But how could he go outside feeling like this? Cutting had been his way of coping with everything, and now that he'd thrown it away, he wasn't sure what to do with himself anymore. 

He closed his eyes and tried to think of something other than his recent obsession with his self-harm, but he just ... couldn't. His eyes started burning, and before he knew quite what he was doing, he had started digging his nails into his wrist, looking for an indication that yes, he was still here and this wasn't some sort of horrible nightmare. 

Then, with a sudden jolt, he realized what he'd been doing, and he almost flung his hand off his wrist, staring at it with disgust. 

He couldn't even quit properly. 

He tried to will away the tears that were starting to gather in his eyes, but he couldn't. The self-loathing and hatred that he'd been feeling for years started creeping back into him, and before he knew what was happening, he'd flung himself onto the bed and curled up in a ball. 

His hand insinctively went back to his wrist, scratching his arm and leaving dark, angry, red marks. He couldn't stop. Who was he kidding? Cutting was his way of coping with the world and convincing himself that it was okay, he was okay. He just couldn't let it go. 

After he had cleaned himself up, he went downstairs and was greeted with his mum sitting in the kitchen, talking to Gemma.

"--know if he's okay, Gemma. I mean, he looks okay, most of the time, but there are other times when I feel like he's barely hanging on, and it makes me so sad, because he's my baby and I want to help him but--" 

She cut herself off with a choked sob and Gemma pulled her in for a tight hug, murmuring that it was going to be okay and there  was no need to worry. Harry pushed the guilt to the back of his mind, and with sudden courage, decided that he was going to talk to Louis today about his decision to quit self-harm. 

He quickly slipped past them, hoping that they didn't notice him leave the house as he put his shoes on. He wasn't really in the mood to interact with people, especially if it meant smiling and laughing and pretending to be okay. 

He walked to the office again, and he was actually looking forward to his therapy session today, even though he knew it was going to be rough. He was going to be talking to Louis, and that thought alone was enough to lift his depressed mood. When he reached the office, he greeted Penelope with a small smile and sat down in one of the chairs, quickly realizing that he'd have to do something to pay off the bills for the therapy. Maybe he should get a job ...

"Mr. Styles? Your therapist will see you now."

Harry got up and walked inside without saying anything, looking at the door before him and realizing that no, it wasn't really that scary after all. It was only a door. With only a little bit of hesitation, Harry turned the doorknob and walked inside, and was met with the sight of a delicious-looking Louis sitting in his chair, concentrating on a file of some sort.

Harry knew that having feelings like these for his therapist was wrong, but he couldn't help himself, really. Not when Louis was as adorable as he was. 

When Louis looked up, he flashed Harry a blinding smile, with teeth and all, and Harry swore that his heart stopped beating for a second. He wanted to whine and cry and throw a tantrum at how unfair Louis was being, with his looks and his smile and his eyes and oh god, he was falling really, really hard.

"So, Harry, are you ready to talk?"

A/N: Okay I don't even know what this is it's horrible & shit and I'm sorry but I'm having major writer's block but I felt like I owed you guys an update so ... here you go. Sorry it's short! & if you guys have any suggestions as to what to do in the future for this story, comment on the story or PM me about it! (: