Stall 2

Chapter 59.

"Take me to your river

I wanna go"

Song: River - Leon Bridges

A/N: I'm so sorry this is a day late, it's long and took more time than I thought but we're here!

(If you are a masochist and really wanna twist the knife, re-read chapter 50 of the first book and then this one.)

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"Harry... please forgive me if I sound like a dick right now but nothing about this looks like a good idea to try."

I don't know how else to phrase it, aside from being one hundred percent blunt about it. My anxiety isn't letting me filter it into something more polite.

I'm still wary, standing outside the doorway with my heart hammering in my chest. The dim lighting in the bathroom isn't helping.

Harry takes another slow step towards me, and I don't back away from him. If anything I want to take his hand and pull him out of the bathroom.

The images of the night I found him in the bathtub are screaming through my mind.

You'd think I'd panic like I'm reliving what has happened in the nightmares I've had... but I'm not. I know it isn't him in them. They aren't real. When I'm awake and conscious he's the one thing that makes me feel safe.

"Baby - I swear to you, this isn't what you think. Please don't be scared. I didn't mean to scare you."

Harry looks concerned and keeps his voice soft, like he didn't fully think through whatever is going on and now he's staring at me like I'm going to run away from him.

"Well can you explain exactly what this is then? Because I'm having a really hard time thinking it's anything good."

I keep my feet planted firmly on the ground, not budging while he takes slow steps to close the small gap between us until he's in front of me.

His hands come up to hover at my shoulders, and he watches me for a moment like he thinks I'll flinch or recoil from him but when I stay still, he places his hands on them.

He starts to rub his palms up and down my arms to reassure me before sliding them down to take hold of my hands.

"Hey..." he says in a gentle tone, getting me to look at him when he notices my eyes are still focused on the bathroom, "look at me. I'll explain."

My eyes dart up to meet his, and even though his stare is full of his own nerves; it's still soft and reassuring.

"I've been trying this thing... in the last few appointments I've had with Rob," he says watching my carefully, and I still look just as lost, "I thought he was fucking with me at first when we tried it. But I think it's helped... and I wanted to try this with you to see if it really has."

I frown, still confused, "What thing?"

His thumbs stroke against the skin on my hands, while he links his fingers with my own, "He said it's called EMDR therapy. It's meant to help PTSD or complex PTSD... I thought it was bullshit because for the most part it's just my eyes following his finger back and forth."

"How come you never told me about any of that? How does it help?" I ask, while I'm hit with several different emotions. He hadn't spoken to me about his appointments in weeks.