The Therapist [h.s]

9

Camila's POV

"Good morning sir," I said as I saw the tall man in my peripheral vision, I pictured him smiling at my statement.

"Good morning miss," he joked and I turned to see Harry sat back in my chair- just where I liked to see him.

"So Harry how are you?" It was like an inside joke, I would always ask him how he was. He would always lie. Ok maybe it wasn't a joke, but it had become a fast tradition in our sessions.

"Good."

"Of course you are," I mumbled as I looked for my notepad where I could write down things I observed. I had full pages of scribbles already.

"Camila, I think I can talk about my childhood," he murmured and my eyes lit up- he was sharing more and more with me every session.

"That's great Harry!"

"Yeah.. Well," he scratched the back of his neck as he looked down awkwardly, "After my parents' divorce everything seemed to crumble around me, I just went off a bit. I wasn't as focused, when I got older I don't know I guess I just got more and more depressed to the point where I didnt see the point in living. I was useless. No one wanted me."

"Why didn't you 'go'?"

"Music. It was always there for me, I was in a band before One Direction. Whenever I was up on stage singing I felt like it all washed away, all the thoughts. All their words."

"What would they say to you?"

"They would call me gay, they called me a pussy because I wouldn't fight back, they call me a bean sprout because I was so lanky. Just stupid things like that but it dragged me down each day, there was a point where I couldn't take the constant teasing. I wanted just wanted to leave. It was like no one liked me, no one wanted me."

"You said your depression started four years ago?" I questioned him, what he was implying was that his depression had started when he was much younger.

"I thought it had gone, when I went on X Factor. I felt so ecstatically happy all the time, some call it the 'honeymoon phase'. I didn't have the compelling thoughts to cut, I didn't feel useless, I felt wanted."

"What happened then?" The more he talked about his life, the more I wanted to know more. The more I wanted him to tell me.

"It all got too much."