Louis' POV

When I close the door behind me, a wisp of smoke releases from my lips as I pull out the stress relieving stick. The therapist guy sighs before sitting himself down in the big black swivel chair behind his desk, moving the wooden block that has his name engraved on the gold plate that's glued upon it.

He motions me to the chair in front of him, but I just take another blow before leaning myself against one of the walls, my right hand in my pocket.

He sighs again.

"Smoking isn't allowed here Mr. Tomlinson. I'm going to have to ask you to get rid of it before we start today's session." He speaks, sweat almost glistening on his forehead, the stains under his pits beginning to even grow.

I make him stressed.

Good. That fuck deserves it.

I raise an eyebrow before walking up to his desk, his eyes locked on me in an oh shit way.
I place the soggy cigarette back in my mouth, inhaling and exhaling, making sure the tobacco scented smoke hits his face.

He sighs for the millionth time, his hands now holding each other and his eyes closing from frustration.

"Look Mr. Tomlinson." He begins, his eyes opening.

"I know you don't want to be here and are doing this to try to aggravate me and get your point, whatever that point is, across. But my next patient has very bad asthma and it's not good for him to be breathing in any kind of vapor or gas. Especially smoke." He adds, my body now straightly aligned as I stare down at him, the cigarette resting between my fingers.

"If he has asthma, than he must have a fucking inhaler. Besides, I think the smoke will fade away by then, unless he's a fucking pussy and complains about it." I comment, my eyes darting down to the cigarette briefly before looking back at him.

Why should I give a shit about some bugger I don't know anyway.

He sighs yet again.

I roll my eyes.

"If you stop fucking sighing, I'll kill it." I say, his face expressionless.

"You should do it because it's the right thing to do, not out of annoyance." He responds, causing me to force out a chuckle before placing the cigarette back in my mouth.

"You don't know me." I say, the room getting a little fady again.

He has no right to fucking judge me.

No right.

"I'm not saying I do. All I'm trying to do is be polite and give you a choice of doing the right thing so I don't have to act."

"Act?"

I still try to keep my stance, not wanting to seem like a little bitch or anything.

He nods.

"Act as in notify certain people about your actions, maybe even leading to more meetings with me."

My free hand clenches into a fist as I walk closer to him, my thighs touching the black painted wood of his desk.

This guys has a fucking thing for black decor.

"You wouldn't dare." I say through gritted teeth.

He doesn't look slightly intimidated or affected, pissing me the bloody off.

"I wouldn't want to, but if worse comes to worse, that's what will have to happen. So make a decision."

My hand just closes tighter, my fingernails beginning to dig into my skin.

"I don't belong here." I state, my hatred for this damn place continuing to grow.

His face is still completely calm as he rolls his chair slightly back, opening a drawer and grabbing something out.

It's a small ash tray.

"Then prove it."

We stare at each other for a while, my eyes filled with hatred for the man and his with... Nothing. Not a damn thing.

My hand finally un clenches and I quickly stand up straight before turning around, my back facing him.

I just walk up to the closed door, gaping at the many scratches and indents that are all over it. I mean I don't know why I'm damn surprised, he is a therapist for anger management. I actually wouldn't be surprised at all if he had a few scars on his own flesh.
I know that whenever I'm mad I want to punch something, but I have the strength to refrain.

But I can't say the same for others.
I sigh before sticking my right hand into one of the pockets of my jeans, turning myself around and walking back to the dick.

"Fine. You win." I announce as he sticks out his hand that's holding the tray.
I kill the lit up tip thoroughly before laying it there, releasing it from my hold completely.
He gives me a small smile and I huff, my other hand being placed in my pocket as well.

"I'm proud of you."

I huff again.

"I only did it so Mark won't cut my balls off."
Mark, A.K.A the prick bag CEO of Modest.

He's the reason why I'm forced to come to this shit ditch everyday and I actually would prefer this dick head over Mark.

I would prefer literal shit over Mark.

"You still did it nonetheless and that to me is progress."

My hands pull themselves out from my pockets and my arms cross with one another, my body now leaning on my left foot.

"So does that mean I'm fucking done with this shit hole."

His smile fades along with his hope for me most likely and I shrug to myself.

He points his hand out to the chair right beside me, and I don't even glance at it.

He sighs.

I'm gonna fucking explode if he does that again.

He licks his lips, grabbing a napkin that's resting right next to his clipboard, dabbing it over his moist forehead.

This dude needs one of those shamwow towels or whatever the fuck. He looks as drenched as that mute chic from outside.

At least she wasn't bad to look at.

"You're not going to be able to leave unless I give the all clear."

I shake my thoughts, giving him my attention again.

"What?"

The used napkin is all balled up in his hand and I raise my eyebrows before looking back at his chubby face.

"You haven't made complete progress Mr. Tomlinson. This is your first week. You have about seven weeks left with me."

Seven.

Seven fucking weeks.

That's a shitload of hours.

Shit.

"Now why don't we begin?"

I realize that I've been staring at him for a while now and I quickly look down at the floor, really wanting that cigarette back.

"What is there to begin with?" I question, wanting to go back to the hotel already where FIFA and an X Box awaits for me.

"Well. There's a lot of stuff. But why don't we start off with the basics? How was your day so far today?"

Maybe if I actually do this 'therapy' shit, he'll bail me out of this crap early.

I glance over to my left at the chair, sitting myself down in it.

God, I feel like such a kiss ass right now. If Zayn were here he would be laughing his Bradford arse off.

I don't even dare look up, expecting a smug smile to be on his face.

So instead I just begin playing with my fingers on my lap.

"It was whatever. Nothing big." I say honestly.

I don't have football practice till tomorrow so today was just chill.

"Go into more detail."

This time I sigh, digging the dirt out from beneath my finger nails before turning my head up and shrugging.

"Woke up. Um ate some eggs, played some FIFA, phoned Jane, um......phoned my mum, played more FIFA, smoked, got dropped off here, talked to some mute chic in the hall, and that's about it."

It's so ridiculous how I can't even drive here by myself. Mark fucking convinced Simon to let these two guys take me here everyday.

He said I wouldn't show up if it was up to me.

Well he had a point there.

But since the two dick heads rushed me out, I left my phone and pack in the fucking car.
Idiots.

"Oh yes. You were talking to Diane's daughter. She's a nice girl. Not really social, but nice. I'm actually surprised she spoke to you."

I raise an eyebrow.

"Who the fuck is Diane?"

"She's one of the owners of this center. The party is actually being held by her at her home."
I groan at the mention of that party.

Mark and his dogs told me how I pretty much have to go since it would be good publicity and shit, that it would also help me meet new people.

I know he was fucking lying as well as the true intentions behind it.

He wants me to fuck up.

Wants me to get angry so the paps will have their own party.

But the thing is that I won't allow that to happen.

Was actually planning my own event for that night. Planning to lay in bed and fake a migraine. Don't know if it will work, but I rather try and possibly get myself out of that crap then doing nothing and be in a room with pricks who invited mentally ill people to make them feel better about themselves and their own fucked up lives.
Well except for me.
I'm not mentally ill.
But you know.

"Why is her daughter here then? Does she work here too or something?" I ask, trying to continue this conversation to pass the time so I don't have to say shit.
I don't like talking about myself.

Makes me uncomfortable.

"No she doesn't."

"Then why i-"

"It's not my word to say. If you're so curious then ask her yourself."

I remain quiet, not saying another word really. Just nodding or shaking my head at his questions, not really paying attention as my brain grows a new plan.
She's one of the owner's daughter...

This has to work.

This will work.

How?

Well...

Plan:

A.) Go to the party looking rather attractive. (Easy.)
B.) Search for the girl (Most likely soaked again.)
C.) Talk to her.
D.) Use all my charm and befriend her before the two months end.

And

E.) Guilt trip her into convincing her mum to well... Convince Mark to let me out.
I'm a fucking genius.

Sure Jane would be super ashamed of me, but whatever. She spray paints illegally so who is she to judge.

"Time's up." I finally say, my eyes going from the corner clock to his eyes, my mood now hopeful and better.

He says a few things to me, but I completely shut him out as I practically sprint to the door, not even saying another word.

I stare at the bench across as I step into the hallway, seeing it empty and wet.

She obviously already went in, but I still can't help but smile anyway.

Oh she's not going to know what's coming.

She's going to be blown off her feet.

Well swept.

Whatever, she's gonna like me.

As I stuff my hands in my pockets, turning to the right and beginning to walk down the hall, I halt once again.

F.) Get my lighter back too.

Notes