Silent Laughter (Louis Tomlinson Fan-Fic) Book 3

Part eighteen [Part 1]

I chuckle at my own thought.

Who in the hell am I kidding? Louis could be burned half to death and he would still think he was hotter than the fucking equator on a warm day.

My eyes close again and I groan before leaning my head back against the wall, turning up the volume on my phone.

I didn't want Coop to come with me so he wouldn't talk about these things, yet he's not here and I'm the one talking about it.

A hypocritical ass is what I am.

I hear a few muffled noises around me, but I don't really budge until I feel a poke on my shoulder.

I quickly open my eyes, feeling slightly startled at the sudden tap before looking up to see Dr. Kanwell looking down at me with the board in her hand.

It's that time of the day where I get to enter hell again.

Lovely.

I just nod before going to my pocket and sliding out my phone to pause the song, whatever song it was. To be honest I wasn't even paying attention.

Once I grab my belongings and get up, my feet lead me into her office. The ward seems to be even darker today.

...

The programmed greetings were exchanged as usual as the opening questions along with the opening answers were given.

Her body is resting in that dull chair of hers that is purposely larger than that of the patients to show their amount of jurisdiction.  The intimidation is non-existent and actually annoys me even more, but not as much as the woman who is sitting in it, tapping her pen a few times against the wood of the desk.

My eye would twitch from the repetitive tacking if I weren't already so used to it.

"How has everything been with your mother?" she questions, my face heating up at the memory of what I revealed to her about a week ago.

She thinks that I confessed to her out of trust and comfort when I actually did it from frustration from her neverending questions about my past.

When your patient begs you to stop asking something, I think as a professional, you should respect their request.

However, Dr. Kanwell thinks otherwise, wanting to crack the already cracked.

'I don't want to speak about it again.' I sign.

Her eyes narrow forcefully so she looks interested in what I have to say when she really doesn't give two shits.

Her pen stops hitting itself against the surface of the table and instead rises and lowers to that clipboard of hers.

I just stare at it.

I stare at her writing and I fill up with this hatred towards the inanimate object.

I fucking detest that clipboard.

However, I don't say anything about the situation. She'll just use that against me and try to start a conversation about the subject that shouldn't be discussed.

Not that I care for it.

Normal people get over things like that quickly.

I'm normal.

"How is she by the way?"

My eyebrows furrow together as I look back up at her in confusion.

"Your mum. How is she?"

Her dark brown eyes are now meeting mine, her pen still in her hand.

I shrug, looking down with a bit of anger.