Liberate • Harry Styles

thirty five.

Violet.

I got out of my meeting ten minutes before the scheduled end time; I was reeling from my encounter with Harry. He looked like absolute shīt, and he stank like the bottom of a vodka bottle. I had a feeling he was holding back something that he wasn't telling me.

Huh. Well that makes two of us.

I stepped outside, into the light of the setting sun, and lit my cigarette before remembering that I already had one today. I stomped it out on the ground, remembering that under my circumstances I had restricted myself to one a day for the next little while.

I walked the few blocks it took to get to my apartment from the hotel and I tipped my head back as I strolled to soak in the warm rays of the sun. I thought of our conversation, how seeing him made me realize how much I'd truly missed him. But in my current state, 'current mental condition' as Dr. Arrow had put it, I hadn't been really able to feel much. I'd been numb to all disturbances, all excitement, all emotion in my life, and I couldn't help it. Not this time.

I put aside the insistent thoughts of my predicament and sat down on a bench, popping two of my prescribed medication. I swallowed them with difficulty. My phone rang against my leg and I squinted as I took out the thin device and held it up to read the caller I.D.

Louis.

"Hey, buddy." I answered him in the same manner that I had been using since Harry and I broke up. Louis had been a trusted ally - the only member of that goddāmn boyband that ever seemed to give a genuine shīt about me, not counting Harry - if what he said was true.

"I heard you ran into Haz. How are you feeling?" Louis voice started immediately.

"Confused." I said truthfully as I got up from the bench and continued my walk home. "He isn't really helping me with my recovery, you know. Impeding on my treatment and all."

"I know he isn't. But he really needed to see you Vi, there's something up with him too. He isn't right."

"What do you mean, isn't right?"

"I mean, he may have something too." Louis tried to skirt around the issue and I sighed.

"Let's just call a spade a spade, Louis. I have depression, and you're thinking he might too."

Saying the words out loud felt alien to me. Yes, I had depression. And a hell of an odd case of it, too. My coma-like sleep in the car in the English countryside after the breakup, my unwillingness to better myself, my lack of desire to get out of bed. All a cherry on top of my 'induced chronic depression' thanks to the anniversary of my father's death.

The hours I spent in recovery the past couple of weeks on Skype with Dr. Arrow were critical to my emotional recovery. I even got to see her in person, thanks to Simon flying her in on a few special occasions. The past two weeks were hell, but I somehow managed to mitigate the buzz around the breakup, set up a logistics meeting with my cosmetics design team, and take my medication all at once. I did all of this, and all Harry managed to do was drink like a fūcking fish for a fortnight and relax at his cottage.

Or maybe he wasn't relaxing, not according to Louis anyway.

"He very well may be depressed, Vi. And I think I'm going to try and work with him on it. Have you gotten a chance to call your mom?" Louis' worried voice sounds tinny on the other end of the line.