The Therapist [h.s]

3

Camila's POV

"Hey Harry," I said cheerfully, trying to improve his mood before we even began speaking.

"Hey Camila," he grunted back like a caveman.

"So today are you going to cooperate?" I was getting slightly exasperated with his dismissive, ungrateful demeanor.

"Maybe," he played with his fingers as he spoke nervously.

"Harry you know I'm here to help you? Do you know that's why I'm here?" I looked closely into his eyes, trying to gauge any reaction.

"I don't need help to get better, I can do it myself," I sighed. He still had his poker face on, his guard was still firmly up.

"Can you give me a small indicator of what things you need help with?" Slowly he looked up to face me with those mesmerising eyes.

"I'm messed up in the head. Depressed, paranoid, angry, bipolar- the lot. You name it, I have it," it was like he was presenting a challenge, saying 'try and help me but you'll fail'.

"That's not being messed up in the head, they are serious illnesses that don't make you anything but someone who needs a bit of help to get them through this dark stage," it was a sentence that I had said to hundreds of patients before, all who believed it. Harry didn't, I could see it in his face. He didn't believe me one bit.

"Well help me through this dark stage."

"I will if you let me."

"If I let you, will you fix me? Promise?"

"Promise."