insane // harry styles

chapter one

Harry's POV

My leather boots led the way as I traipsed unhurriedly through the unoccupied halls of the eerily quiet building. It smelt rather musty (not a very pleasant smell, might I add) and the ancient wooden floorboards creaked with every step my shoes made. The only light that illuminated the dim path in front was a lightbulb on the ceiling, flickering rapidly at a tempo that matched perfectly with the pace I walked at. There was a guard in front, leading me, as well as another guard who trailed behind me, ensuring I kept on the path and didn't try to, you know, escape.

As if I'd do that.

I was already in massive trouble with the government which was one of the worst possible scenarios - look at me now. I was here, on my way to see a psychiatrist for my 'problems'.

It wasn't my fault. The whole predicament I dug myself into wasn't my fault. I wish the government saw that.

"Are we there yet?" I complained out loud to the guards. I had already counted my feet going up at least two hundred stairs and it honestly felt like this building went on forever. Didn't the thought of installing an elevator ever cross their mind?

"The guard behind me responded. "At the end of the hall."

I rolled my eyes and exhaled deeply. I didn't want to be here at all. Stupid Susan, stupid John, stupid government, stupid everybody.

Eventually, we reached what seemed like the door to the psychiatrist's office.

PSYCHIATRIST: Dr A. Thornhill, Room 93

To be frank, I was extremely apprehensive. I wasn't sure what exactly I was looking for, or who would be my 'dream psychiatrist', but I knew damn well this wasn't going to be my idea of fun.

I would have to see my psychiatrist every week, I really hoped I liked them, whoever they were.

What was I even thinking? I hardly liked anyone.

The guard who was ahead of me opened the door and motioned for me to come through. I hesitated slightly before stepping into the office.

The room was extremely small, in fact. I glanced around the room, taking in all of the surroundings and everything that was placed in front of me. It was like a scene from a movie. There was a couch in the bottom right corner, a bookshelf filled to the brim with books and two plastic chairs in front of what I presumed was the psychiatrist's desk. On the desk, there sat a few sheets of paper stacked neatly, several picture frames, a tin of pens and an old, worn out book, with the front cover ripped off.

However, nobody was situated at the desk. I frowned.

"So, uh, where's my psychiatrist?" I questioned curiously, my anticipation heightened with every second passing by. I bit down on my bottom lip.

One of the guards answered. "I have no idea, kid. We specifically told her to be here by nine-fifteen, she must be coming soon."

I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. "Her?" At least he confirmed my thoughts about my psychiatrist, but I didn't know whether I was comfortable with her being of the female gender. I didn't know whether I was comfortable with anyone.

Wait, scratch that. I know for a fact I wasn't the least bit at ease with anyone. Or anyone that I knew, anyway.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I'm late!" A high-pitched voice (feminine, I'm certain) wailed from behind me. Without thought, I spun around, and I was face-to-face with my psychiatrist for God knew how long.

Her young and youthful appearance indicated that she was around my age, give or take a few years, which was definitely a breath of fresh air for me.