Stall 2

Chapter 44.

"Right now I feel like I'm an alien

I'm so fucking dangerous
Cover up the evidence with medicine
I can't find the light."

HARRY P.O.V.:

28th July

"You know Harry, as life changing as these last fifteen minutes of staring wordlessly into your mesmerising eyes has been -- I am going to need you to speak at some point."

Rob is sitting across from me in his leather chair, where I'm sitting on the couch in his office that I'm breaking my neck to get out of.

I said I'd try though with all of this. So. This is me trying. Silently.

I still don't like this damn priest.

Abby warned me to 'be nice' before I left the house and I am being nice. That's why I've barely said a word.

Isn't the phrase, 'If you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all?'

Well, this me doing that.

"I don't even think I stared into my wife's eyes for this long on our wedding night - this is starting to feel quite intimate," Rob comments while he glances down to the gun I'm still holding that's resting casually on my thigh; and he lifts his brows "Granted, she wasn't armed that night though."

My jaw is locked and clenched tight, still irritated by the mere presence of him since he opened the door.

I don't even know how the potted plant in the corner of this room tolerates him.

I bet it's plastic.

I don't know what I expected this to be like, but now that I'm here the half of me that's nagging to get some kind of help isn't as loud as the part that's watching every move he makes; and deciding whether I'm going to need to shoot him or not if he pulls something.

I suppose I'm also being biased, if I said my past run in with priests hadn't affected my feelings towards this guy - I'd be lying.

Abby may trust him, but all that has done is made me give him a chance - not feel like I won't put a bullet in his head if he looks at me the wrong way.

Rob keeps his hands folded in his lap, still with that annoying calm fucking expression he's been staring at me with the whole time.

I don't know if I can take an hour of this.

"Look, can't you just do you psyche head doctor bullshit and tell me how to sort out my shit?" I say, sighing as I sit the gun on the couch next to my leg, "Why do I need to say anything? I'm sure Abby has filled you in on most of it - it's not like you don't know why I'm here."

Rob shakes his head, keeping that placid politeness that for some reason pisses me off, "I'm afraid that's not how it works Harry. What Abby tells me has nothing to do with my appointments with you, and is strictly between Abby and I. As whatever you say to me is between the two of us and does not leave this room."

He pauses to observe me, and his expression becomes more curious, " -- and you're incorrect by the way, I actually have no clue why you're here. So why don't you tell me?"

I blink at him, not understanding the point of his question, "Tell you what?"

"Tell me why you've come here today,"

I frown, leaning back against the couch and folding my arms over my chest, "I already told you that. I need to sort my shit out."

"Are you always this astoundingly specific when answering questions?" Rob cocks his head, with his question sounding more like a sarcastic observation.