The Therapist [h.s]

29

Harry's POV

I woke up to see that Camila had already left the bed and gone downstairs- I could hear the kettle whistling in the kitchen. Padding down the carpeted stairs I saw the beautiful woman sat staring out of the window, her eyebrows furrowed as she thought deeply.

"What's wrong?" I asked as I walked over to her, stroking her hair lazily. She looked up slightly dazed at my sudden presence and rubbed her eyes sleepily.

"I have no job. I never really processed it before now, there was so much happening that I became distracted. But it just hit me then- I have no job. No source of income," I could hear the distress in her voice and slowly trailed my fingers up and down her arms in an attempt to calm her.

"Cam, you have me. You don't need to work, you're dating a millionaire," as I spoke I noticed that she was becoming more agitated rather than becoming more calm which was not the response I wanted to have.

"I don't want to just scrounge off your money like some gold digger. I want to do something with my life, I want to be my own person. But who will employ me after what happened? I'm known as the therapist who slept with one of her patients," she threw her hands up the air and pushed past me so she could make herself some tea, and I was left unsure of what to say. Then an idea hit me.

"Why don't you start up a blog?" She turned around and looked at me like I was mental.

"About what?" She asked, taking a sip from her drink and raising her eyebrow, she obviously wasn't buying my plan.

"You use it to help teenagers who suffer from mental illnesses. You're a trained therapist, that gives you the edge! You can write articles about how to deal with depression, or anxiety or anything and people can message you privately if they want specific help," I finished speaking when I saw Camila's face light up, a smile appear where the frown had been before.

***
"And voila! Its done!" My friend Alan had come round to help set up her blog as neither of us were great with technology. After thanking him, I saw Camila looked apprehensively at the computer screen.

"Just write something," I prompted her and she looked at me with a gentle fear in her eyes.

"I don't know what to write," she muttered, tapping the table lightly as if trying to conjure up something from her brain which she could say.

"Don't stress," I kissed her forehead softly, "Why don't I tweet my fans telling them about your blog and ask them what they'd like you to write?"

She nodded weakly and I found myself smiling at her adoringly. Whenever I looked at her, I found myself grinning or smiling- maybe I did that because I knew that I was the luckiest man on the planet.

"What if your fans hate me?" Her sweet voice snapped me out of my thoughts and I laughed gently at her worries.

"They'll love you, trust me babe," I felt infinitely happy in that moment. I never wanted it to end.