Fooled (Larry Stylinson) ✅

25. Fucked up

Louis' Point of View 

"Hell, Louis. I'm Dr. Feinstein," the doctor said, extending his hand to me as I sat on the paper-covered examining table. He was about 50 and was wearing a white coat with khakis and New Balance sneakers. Not exactly what I was expecting. 

"Hey," I said, shaking his hand. "So what brings you in today?" he asked, grabbing his clipboard and taking a seat in his swivel chair. 

"Well, I've been having trouble eating lately. I thought it was just stress at first, but it's gotten worse and I sort of feel sick when I go to eat -- and I feel really intensely that I shouldn't eat. Like a fear, almost," I said with a shrug. I wasn't a big fan of doctors offices, and especially not doctors. They always made me feel awkward and embarrassed about myself. Who knows, maybe my problem wasn't even worth coming in for? 

"Hmm, okay," he said. "Well, I just looked at your weight. You lost 20 pounds in the past three months since you've been here. You're still considered a healthy weight, but if you lose anymore, you'll be underweight. That's kind of a drastic drop. And you said you feel intensely that you shouldn't eat? When did this start?" 

"Dunno," I replied, rubbing the back of my neck. I was feeling super uncomfortable and didn't really want to be here anymore. I didn't think I had lost that much -- honestly, when I looked in the mirror, I didn't think I looked fat, but I definitely didn't feel thin or close to underweight. I thought I was average, a little out of shape even. I felt so confused, so out of touch with myself. Like I was losing myself, really....

"I guess these past few months, I've been having relationship stress. And I've felt like, really body conscious  and just self conscious in general. I... I don't know, I started to diet a bit. Nothing crazy. I've done it before, my weight's always up and down. But this time, I just started eating less and soon I was able to stomach less and less... I didn't really realize it at the time, though, I guess." 

This situation was all really a shock to me. Looking back, I remembered skipping tea a few too many times, saying no to Niall when he asked if I wanted breakfast, cutting meals the next day after drinking alcohol. But it sort of just felt normal to me... I didn't know I would spiral like this...

"Yeah, it sounds like you might an eating disorder. Do you purge? Or exercise excessively?" the doctor asked. I tried to avoid eye contact, but he was looking right at me. 

"Exercise, no. Purge-- once or twice. I...it's not a regular habit," I said, even though it had probably been closer to 4-5 times. The doctor wrote something down and then looked back over at me. "Do you smoke?" he inquired. 

Fuck. My favorite question. 

"No," I lied, fidgeting a bit in my seat. "Oh, so that pack of Camels in your back pocket, that's not yours?" he said, skeptically, pointing at the cigarette pack that was basically sliding out of my jeans. 

"Okay, yeah I smoke," I said, shoving them back in. I was pretty annoyed now. I wasn't in the mood to hear this whole lecture about lung cancer and mouth cancer and black tar. I knew the consequences of cigarettes -- in fact, that's exactly why I smoked them: because I didn't fucking care what happened to me. Because I hated myself. 

"How often? Has it increased in recent months?" he asked. I looked at my Vans, studying the design on the side of my shoes. "Half a pack a day. It used to be 1-2 a day, but shit happens," I admitted with a huff. 

"So... did you ever think your loss of appetite might have something to do with your smoking? Do you smoke to suppress to your appetite?" he asked. 

That was fucking it. 

Yeah, I smoked to suppress my appetite. But I smoked to suppress a lot of other things too. Like my fucked up teenage years where I was beat up for being gay. Like how all the guys I've met have either dumped me or treated me like trash. How I had fucked up my chances with Harry through a shit storm sexual encounter with some guy I hardly knew. You know, those things. 

I hopped off the table, grabbing my keys and taking my pack of cigarettes out of my pocket. "You know what, maybe this appointment isn't such a good idea," I said, walking past the doctor and towards the door. The doctor walked towards me, a concerned look in his face. 

"I know this is stuff you don't want to hear. But at the very least, try to cut back on the smoking. And if you want, we have a free clinic here with a nutritionist. You can work with her to get back on track, little by little. I recommend trying to gain some of that weight back," the doctor said, putting down his clipboard. 

"Thanks," I said, my voice deepening with rage. "But I can handle myself. Also, I don't have health insurance. Send my bill in the mail. Maybe I'll pay it." 

With that, I swung the door open, speed walking out of the office and into the parking lot. Leaning against the brick building, I put a cigarette to my lips and lit up, the dizzying smoke filling my lungs and removing me temporarily from my current stress. 

I glanced down at my phone. There was a cheery "how did it go, mate?" message from Niall in regards to my doctors appointment.  I texted him back. "Awful. Fuck health," I replied. 

I realized I also had another notification for a voicemail, which was odd because the only people who ever left me voicemails were my grandma and my boss. Oddly enough, it wasn't from either. 

"Hey, Louis. It's Zayn. I tried to call you, I know it's weird to leave a voicemail but this is kind of urgent. So, it turns out your ex Harry is in the band I'm doing the video with. I guess you knew that but didn't want to tell me? I was talking to Liam about what I was up to today and I mentioned you.... and how we,  well, were together. And Harry overheard. He kind of punched me.... a lot. And, honestly, I'm still really shaken from this. But I'm kind of upset that you involved me in this without telling me. I would never have slept with you had I known Harry was still invested. He's a friend to me in the industry. And this could have really fucked up our relationship. Anyways, call me back, but more importantly, call Harry first. I think you owe him a bloody apology." 

The message ended and my cigarette hit the ground, still burning. I didn't bother putting it out. Instead, I fell to my knees, vomiting onto the asphalt. Then everything went black.