Niall P.O.V

It was a few days later that I found myself once again lying naked next to Harry. Both of us staring up at the off white ceiling, neither of us speaking a word, because we had found that we didn’t need words. Words have become pointless when we come together like this. We’ve become dependent on each other. I flick my eyes slightly in Harry’s direction, not making it obvious that I am looking at him. He’s breathing slightly, worn out from the events that took place only moments ago. He’s thoughtful, as if he has something he wants to say. And I know he does, because behind that thoughtful look is one of pain. Pain that I have caused him. Pain that I’m causing him. Ever since the falling out that happened between Liam and I, I have become more observant of the people around me. I know how they feel, before they do. And because of this, I have become aware that Harry loves me. And not that ‘friend’ love that almost everyone has with each other, ‘real’ love. The kind of love that would make him jump in front of a train to save me, if I needed him to. Harry is in love with me. But because of things that have happened, I am not able to return these feelings, as I told him days ago. That’s why Harry is in pain. He loves someone who cannot or will not love him back. I feel terrible for him, because I know exactly how that feels.

So we continue to exist in this pure silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts. Torturing ourselves with things that we can never say. I found lying here, that maybe we do need words; maybe we need to tell each other how we feel, so we can finally work something out.

“Harry. What do you think’s going to happen next?” I turn to him and ask, letting the sheet wrap loosely around my waist.

“What do you mean?” he asked, continuing to stare at the ceiling.

“I mean with everything. The band, us, everything harry,” I explained.

“I know that I should be able to tell you something, tell you that I’ve been in contact with the boys and Simon and we’ve figured out an elaborate plan to kick start this tour again, but I haven’t. I have no idea what is going to happen next and it frightens the hell out of me,” he answered, finally turning to face me.

“So, when are you thinking of going back?” I ask him.

“I was thinking soon, we’ve already stayed here longer then I thought we would. I think it’s time to leave. Go home, visit our families and the other boys,” Harry answered.

“I don’t want to leave, I like it here. Besides, the boys don’t even want to see me,” I said quietly.

“They’re just mad because the tour was cancelled, I’m sure they would want to see you. And besides once they know why you did what you did, they will understand.”

What Harry said sounded reasonable, but I couldn’t tell them, they would judge me. They would hate me even more than they already do. I can’t tell then.

“They aren’t going to know. I can’t tell them, Harry,” I said, alarmed.

“What! Why?” Harry replied, startled.

“It’s none of their business,” I replied, as if the answer should be obvious.

“They have a right to know, they’re part of this band,” Harry sounded angry.

“I know that, but I can’t just tell them. Liam obviously hasn’t told them, otherwise I would have heard from them, but I haven’t so why should I tell them?” I was angry now.

“Okay Niall, I’m not trying to tell you what to do here, I’m trying to help you. But if you don’t want to say anything to them, just wait a little bit. I’m not trying to pressure you,” he replied, backing off, defeated.

“Thank you, Harry,” I said, lowering my head back on the pillow, and stared up at the ceiling.

“So are you going to do what we talked about then?” he asked me, carefully choosing his words.

It was no use; I knew exactly what he was talking about. The other night Harry bought up me seeing a therapist again, and because I finally had this great guy that loves me I said yes. I’m regretting that decision immensely now. But I have to go, even though I couldn’t think of anything worse. As if a therapist can help me. Someone who’s been through the same kind of thing, maybe. But not a therapist that only pretends to care about me. A therapist that only wants to collect their pay check at the end of the week, who doesn’t care about how I really am. But even though I think all of this, I still said yes.

“I told you the other day I would go. I just have to make an appointment,” I told him.

“Ah, no I don’t. I made you one yesterday, with Dr. Andrew Wise. He’s a psychiatrist here in Melbourne,” Harry answered, rolling over and grabbing something from the drawer next to the bed. He handed it to me, and I unfolded it, seeing instantly that it was an appointment sheet.

Dear Mr Horan,

I have heard a little about your situation from one of your very concerned friends, Mr Harry Styles. I am very interested to meet with you and discuss this further. If you could meet with me at my office at 1:15pm on Wednesday the 17th of July I will be happy to help you through any of the difficulties you are facing in your life at the moment.

Sincerely,

Dr Andrew Wise

“You told him!” I yelled at Harry. How could he do that? I trusted him. I told him I would go to the therapist, I never said that I would tell the therapist anything. People say that even going into therapy and sitting there helps you.

“Whoa! Calm down, Niall. I had to tell him something so he could determine what the best way to treat you is,” Harry didn’t seem surprised by my outburst.

“What did you tell him?” I asked slowly, between clenched teeth.

“I told him that you have become depended on sex, alcohol and drugs due to certain things that have happened recently. But I didn’t tell him what. That’s not my place,” he answered, calmly.

He waited a moment before saying.

“So are you going to go?”

“Well I suppose I have to now,” I replied, not as angry as I was.

“Good. But you’re going to talk, you’re not going in there to sit,” he told me firmly.

“Fine,” was all I said, as I got up off the bed to shower and get ready for my appointment.
~~.~~
I stood on the busy Melbourne street looking up at the tall office building. A tall building that looks exactly the same as the ones that surround it. Harry had wanted to come with me, but I told him that this is something I have to do on my own. He had reluctantly accepted why I had to do this and stayed at the hotel. It seemed easy enough to walk here, but now I’m here I’m having second thoughts. I don’t want to be judged. I don’t want to share my deepest, darkest thoughts with a complete stranger. I stood there for a long time. I looked at my phone to see that Harry was calling me.


“Harry? Why are you calling me?” I asked, confused.

“I wanted to hear how it went,” he replied, just as confused.

“What’s the time?” I asked him.

“Ah, it’s just gone two o’clock. Dr Wise said it would be about a forty five minute appointment,” he replied.

“Shit,” was all I said.

“What, Niall? What are you doing?” he was concerned.

“I haven’t actually gone in yet?” I answered.

“What? Is he running late or something?” he asked.

“No, not running late I’ve just, ah. I’ve been standing looking at the building for apparently the last hour. People must think I’m very strange,” I replied.

“Niall,” he sounded disappointed, “you have to go in, mate. Just go in and sit if you have to. But you’ve got to go in.”

“Okay, I can do this,” I said, trying to convince myself.

“Yes you can. Now I’m going to hang up and you are going to walk in there and sort yourself out. I’ll be waiting back at the hotel,” He said, and the phone line went dead.

I slipped the phone back in my pocket, put my shoulders back and walked through the sliding double doors into the building. I walked to the desk that sat squarely in the middle of the lobby.

“I’m here to see Dr Wise. I’m Niall Horan,” I said to the receptionist. Upon hearing my name she looked up and her eyes widened.

“N-Niall Horan,” she repeated back at me, stumbling over her words. She stood up and shook my hand over the counter. “It is an honour to meet you Niall, I’m a huge fan. I was so excited to go to your concert last week, but I was told it was cancelled. What are you still doing here?”

“If you’re a fan then obviously you’ve seen the papers and the magazines about me, you’ve seen the pictures?” I said.

“Well yes of course, but-,”

“Well then if I am in this building, obviously I’m here to see a therapist,” I snapped, cutting her off.

“Oh yes of course, I’m sorry Niall,” She turned back to her computer and typed in a few things.

“Ah, it looks like you missed your appointment at 1:15pm, it’s now 2:10pm. Would you like me to see if Dr Wise is still available?” she asked me, not willing to look directly at me.

“Yes that would be kind,” I said, trying my best to give her a small smile. She picked up the phone and dialled a few numbers.

“Yes, Dr Wise? It’s Lorry, I have Niall Horan here with me. Are you able to fit him in, or should I ask him to come back at a more convenient time?” she said. “Alright I’ll send him straight up.” She hung up the phone.

“Dr Wise will see you now. Take the elevator to the 9th floor, and knock on the 4th door on the right hand side,” she said harshly.

Apparently I have offended her with my rude behaviour beforehand.

“Thank you, Lorry. I’m sorry,” was all I said to her. She smiled in return and pointed me toward the elevator again.

I took it up to the 9th floor and knocked on the 4th door on the right hand side of the corridor a few minutes later. The door opened, to reveal a tall man in his early 30’s, wearing a dark blue suit. His hair was dark brown and perfectly styled, and his eyes were as dark as the night sky. He was fucking pretty.

“Come in Mr Horan,” he said, motioning for me to sit on the dark grey couch in the middle of the room.

“Call me Niall, please,” I told him.

Once I had sat down and he had made himself comfortable in the armchair across from me, he asked. “So what can I do for you, Niall?”

Notes

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