resurrect | h.s

part forty seven

Harry Styles

My foot taps anxiously on the tiled floor of the waiting room. There were people sitting around Lydia and I on brown chairs identical to the ones we were sitting on.

I've never been to a therapist before.

I rub my sweaty palms on my jeans. "I don't even know what to say when I get in there." I whisper to Lydia.

"Let them do the talking and then just respond with what you feel. That's what this is for. They're trained for this stuff." she says.

"Can't you just come in with me?"

"Harry, if I come in you'll hold back. That's why we're here...so you'll open up."

I had no intentions of actually opening up. I just came here for Lydia and my daughter. I really didn't care about what the therapist said.

I just want to get clean.

Maybe because I know there's something wrong with me...

A man in a brown suit walks out, looking around the waiting room.

"Harry Styles?" he calls my name, meaning it was time for me to talk to him.

I look at Lydia, and she gives me a warm, assuring smile.

You're doing this for her. You're doing this for your daughter. That's what I kept telling myself.

The man smiles at me and then tells me to follow him.

We walk from the waiting room into a hallway.

His office was on the left side, sealed by a brown door.

He steps to the side upon opening the door, allowing me to go inside the tiny warm room first.

"How are you today, Harry?" the man asks, gesturing for me to sit on a brown couch.

I clear my throat, trying hard to not sound awkward as fuck.

"Erm..." I hesitate. "I'm alright."

"I spoke with your fiancé on the phone the other day. She filled me in on you." he begins.

I press my lips together and nod.

"I want you to know that addiction is something I take seriously, especially when the person has so many redeeming qualities, and according to Lydia...you're one of those people."

I can only imagine what Lydia said to this man. I don't think she's ever said one negative thing about me.

He leans forward, elbows propped on his knees and hands folded between his spread legs. "I should also let you know that I'm not just a regular psychologist, Harry. I've worked with people like you. I know all about you and your gang activity."

I sit there, kind of taken aback knowing that this stranger has been filled in about the gang and everything.

"I'm not here to judge. I'm here to help you recover and find out what has caused you to turn to narcotics."

I glare at him. For some reason, I was uneasy about filling him in on all of this.

"I'm a therapist. Not a cop." he chuckles, noticing my discomfort. "In fact, I've worked with members of your gang before. Liam Payne being one of them earlier this year."

As the leader, I felt like I should have been informed that my gang has a designated therapist...but whatever.

He grabs a notepad and a blue inked pen, crossing his legs and leaning back in his black leather chair.