trepidation | h.s

part eighteen

Harry Styles

I cant lie, I've been trying to hide my feelings for a while. Lydia was genuinely very concerned about my mentality after I spilled my guts to her, and I don't like the thought of her worrying.

It's been almost two days, and I've been trying my best to avoid the whole situation because that's what I do best when it comes to these feelings.

I also don't want her to feel obligated to help me. In that moment, I just needed someone to vent to. Actually, I needed to vent to her in particular...but it was a moment of weakness and pathetic vulnerability.

Today has been quiet. Louis was at Eliza's place and Niall was at the hideaway working on some minor business things. It's just been me and the girls all day.

Lydia's asked me a couple of times if I was feeling okay and I just don't know how to answer. I just say 'yes' because I'm still working on expressing it all.

Maybe I do need help with that, but my pride will get in the way.

Lydia took a quick shower while I fed Daisy, then put her down for a nap. She went down easy, no fussing or anything, which was nice for me.

I gently shut her bedroom door and head back downstairs, planning on cleaning up but instead stumbling upon Lydia standing in the middle of the kitchen with her phone to her ear.

She was in a silk blue robe, her hair damp from her shower and falling down long over her slender shoulders.

She doesn't look at me, but I step up behind her and wrap my arms around her waist and she leans into me naturally.

I could hear the muffled phone ringing. I kissed Lydia's neck gently as I held her in a comforting way.

"Aspen Psychology. How can we help you?" The voice on the other line speaks.

My eyes grow wide and my arms fall from Lydia's waist, my hands gripping her hips to turn her around.

"You're calling a therapist!" I say in shock.

This is the last thing I wanted.

"Hi, I'm calling to see if I can speak to Dr. Richardson?" Lydia's voice speaks as she tries to ignore me.

"Lydia, hang up!" I say. "This is ridiculous and I-"

She covers my mouth with her other hand, cutting me off as she stares at me with a glare, wanting me to shut up.

But I don't plan on it.

"I'm calling about my husband, Harry. You met with him just over a year ago, I think." she says, her hand still pressed over my mouth.

The memory of having that meeting with the therapist who somehow knew about all of my gang activity came flooding through my mind. I met with him after I got really high that one night and crashed in Lydia's parents garage.

Never thought I'd have to see him again, honestly.

I grab her wrist and pull her hand off of my mouth. She immediately walks away from me and into the dining room, pulling out one of the chairs at the table and sitting down.

Im not sure if it was dread that I was feeling, but whatever it was made me almost angry at the idea of seeing a therapist.

It's not that I think I'm too good for therapy, it's that I am too good for therapy. I don't need it and I don't think it will help.

So I've gotta stop her.

I could simply go up behind her and rip the phone from her hand...or I could distract her.