Therapist [h.s]

chapter one

Isabel

“Sorry.” I apologised profusely, to the woman next to me in a short red dress, six inch heels, and a caked face. I am in no place to judge, that's what most of the women look like in here, whilst my jeans and white crop looked like it came out of goodwill, and my leather jacket as well.

“It’s fine.” She looked at least twenty six, and all the other women looked about thirty, her snooty nose was held high as if she was the youngest and looked the youngest.

I'm seventeen.

I rolled my eyes at nearly all the women in here, and all of them were women. “Isabel, stop.” My father was one of those men now, who were embarrassed of their failures of children, but it wasn’t because of school, it was because nearly the whole town new now that my boyfriend died running away from me, but I still loved him. I had asked my dad if the therapist new, he had spat with a no.

“I’m doing absolutely nothing,” I crossed one leg over the other to feel the least bit comfortable. “I’m just sitting.”

“You were rolling your eyes,” he explained. “If Mr Styles, comes to me and complains about anything, heads will roll.”

“Dad, I’m at therapy, cut me some slack.” I hated my father, he was the epitome of an idiot, thinking that my life was a mess and that I needed professional help.

“You need this,” he roughed up. “It also cost’s lots of money, don't fuck it up.”

“I will make sure to tell him all about my wonderful father.” Sarcasm, that’s what it was, but it wasn't a lie.

“You little bi-“ He was cut off whilst a feminine voice called my name.

“Isabella Anderson, Mr Styles is ready for you.” She yelled, the wrong name.

She was holding out a folder waiting for me to grab it and walk away, so she can sit on her desk and do nothing. She was also wearing red lipstick and a red dress.

I stormed towards her, grabbing the file. “It’s Isabel, lady.” She scoffed loudly, walking back to her desk at the front.

I walked slowly toward a door with ‘Dr Styles’ on it, walking inside, sitting the door loudly.

A male with long brown curly hair, glasses on his nose and emerald green eyes that were framed beautifully with dark shaped eyebrows. He looked to be in his twenties, and as much as I don't like to admit, he was hot, no wonder their was over twenty women in the waiting area.

His eyes stayed on me, before he said anything, smiling kindly, he stood quietly. “Hello, I'm Dr Styles,” he had picked up a black piece of paper and a pen. “You may call me Harry, although, don’t tell your parents.”

“Alright, Harry,” testing the name on my tongue, I grabbed his unshaken hand and shook it lightly. “I’m Isabel Anderson as you may already know.”

He sat back down on his chair, whilst I sat on a leather black couch, that looked extremely comfortable.

“Wonderful, let’s get started,” he said, grabbing the folder in my hands and nodding in appreciation.

“Beautiful name- very long.” He nodded, looking at my file. “Isabel Gabriella Anderson, cute.” He laughed. A beautiful, joyous sound, as he didn’t look like a therapist.

I laughed loudly. “It’s a horrible name.”

Mr Styles was leaning against his table with a small smile, leaning in slightly more. “Well it's better than my name, when I was ten people used to called me hair style.”

“That's awful,” I teased, him lightly. “I think your name is awesome.”

He laughed. “I mean- how many hair styles, could Harry Styles, style, if he knew how to style hair?” I joked, I had made it up in the spot.

“I have lots of hair, and lots of hair styles.” He patted the jungle on his head.

“Okay, tell me about your life, maybe family, boyfriend?” He said. I knew there was nothing about me in the file, and by the look on his face, it looked like he was dying to know.

Dying to know how I got these fading bruises on my porcelain skin. He was curious, too curious, my boyfriend and I’s relationship was none of his concern.

“My mum died when I was thirteen, my grandparents died when I was ten and my dad is a piece of shit, he is now embarrassed of me, his daughter,” I started. “And I basically hate my brothers and sisters, they treat me like shit, I only have two friends, and that's about it.”

I knew it was coming though, the question about him.

“Sound’s awful. I’m so sorry- about your, y’know your family.” His voice now calm before he cleared his throat for the question he was dying to know, his hand moving fast on the blank paper. “What are your friend’s names?”

“Astrid and Killy.”

“They are good friends, yes?” He laughed. “They sound cool.”

“They sure are.” I mustered up a proud smile, for the hot therapist.

“What about your boyfriend?” He asked slowly, calm, and mostly soothing, his voice full of patience.

“What about him?”

“Tell me how he looks, how he makes you feel, if you love him or not,” he walked towards the black leather couch seating himself next to me. “What he did to you.”

“Tell me why you are really here,” He smiled, “Because I’m not one to judge.”

“Course’ I love him.” I sneered, but recovered.

I answered his question. “My boyfriend has short brown hair and blue eyes- such a catch he is, and I love him very much, but I also kind of hate him, he’s a piece of shit,” I sighed loudly, the distraught and curiousness on his face was amusing. “He also likes to touch my thighs, my legs mostly, he thinks they’re soft, and he likes touching my hair because he thinks it’s beautiful and hates when I swear.”

“He also said if anybody even thought of liking me or touching me, I would have to call the police, he is kind of an idiot.”

“Why do you hate him?” He scrambled. “You have pretty possessive boyfriend, I can see why.”

I had no time to answer.

“Do you feel sexually aroused when he touches your thighs or do you feel sexually abused?” He questioned aloud, he glasses on the tip of his nose were falling off.

A lump formed in my throat as I tried to push it back. “We haven't had sex yet, I have never had sex before, but when he touches me, I do not feel sexually aroused thank you,” I mumbled. I could tell he was surprised that I was a virgin. “Otherwise- he’s perfectly content and so am I, truth is he died three days ago.”

“Are you sad- you don't seem sad,” his hand working fast in the paper made my head spin as his emerald eyes stared at my brown eyes.

“I have to leave now thanks for your time, Harry,” I mumbled. “See you tomorrow.”

“Isabel, stop!” He shouted, but I was already walking out the door.

-

Honestly, I hope you liked the first chapter & just remember I can always change it later in the book, it will get better.

My best friend ggpplala has many books and was an inspiration on this one, follow her.

Grandstyles the cover. Is still beautiful, follow her x