Rehabilitation (Harry Styles)

Chapter Two

I walk into the group therapy session where I see a bunch of strangers. I don't want to be here, especially at nine in the morning. I take the closest empty seat and slouch down. The room fills with more people and finally a deep voice booms through the air.

"Great everyone's here," a fairly young, tall, handsome man claps his hands together. "And we have a new patient!" he smiles at me.

Just then the door opens and Harry walks in. "Sorry I'm late, I was helping my father with paperwork."

"It's fine," the guy smiles. "Like I was saying we have a new patient in the group." he looks over at me. "I'm Jay, the group counselor, this is Harry, he takes notes of the session. Please stand up and introduce yourself."

I stand up, "I'm Arielle."

"Nice to meet you Arielle, mind telling us something about you?"

"I'm 18," I mumble.

"Great!" he cheers and all the other girls clap. "Now girls, we will go around the circle introducing yourself to Arielle."

For the next ten minutes I listen to about ten other girls tell me their name, how old they are, and what their favorite things are. In all honesty it isn't that bad, but it's not how I want to spend my day. But I have to suck it up since it's my fault I am in here.

"Great!" Jay says when the last girl had went. "Who wants to share first?"

A girl named Megan raises her hand. "When I was little my mom was very persistent on me looking presentable. She always used to tell me that it doesn't matter how bad I feel only how good I look. So when I started highschool, I gained what seemed like a lot if weight but was only twenty pounds. My mom became verbally abusive and I started starving myself and taking laxatives. I became obsessed with my weight and addicted to the pills. My mother finally realized what was going on and she sent me here."

"How did you feel at that point in your life?" Jay asks her.

"Disgusted, disappointed in myself especially when I couldn't reach my weight goal," she answers.

"Are you happy you are finally getting help?"

"I wasn't at first, but now I'm grateful. I finally see that I was only harming myself not helping."

"Thank you Megan," Jay smiles proudly at her. He leans over to Harry and whispers something in his ear. He start writing something down on the papers he has.

"Now that you see what it's like you could go next," Jay says and it takes me a moment to realize he is talking to me.

"I don't have anything to share," I say.

"Sure you do!" he says way to over excited. "Tell us why you're here, something about your addiction or problems. You could even share skmething interesting you've done or something about who you are."

"Yeah, right," I scoff. "I know absolutely none of you good enough to tell you all the things that screwed me up. And I plan on keeping it that way."

"I can't force you to share, but I promise this helps," Jay tells me.

"Nothing helps anymore," I mumble.

"You're right," Jay agrees. "If you're not willing to receive help, everyone's effort to help, won't."

I smirk, "What great advice, but maybe I don't need help."

"You are here, aren't you?" he says.

"Yeah I am," I say. "That just means I wasn't smart enough."

"Arielle, you're a beautiful young lady. What made you think so negative?"

"You thinking I think negative is merely your opinion. One I couldn't careless about, but thanks for sharing." I smile at him sarcastically.

Jay sighs before giving up and moving on to the next girl. I glance to his side where Harry sits. He is staring at me, like he is trying to figure me out just by my looks. I roll my eyes at the fact that he is probably already judging me. That's what I hate about people, they automatically judge others. Everyone does it, even me.

Group is finally over after a couple more people share. Everyone stands up and instead of leaving they socialize. I, on the other hand, leave. I walk down the hall to my room where Manda is sitting on the bed reading.

I ignore her and lie down on my bed. I sigh and take a few deep breaths before sitting up. I decide I should unpack my bag since I didn't yesterday. I'm glad that this place let's us wear whatever we please as long as it's appropriate. I grab my large duffle bag and sit in front of my dresser. I unzip my bag and when I see what's on the top I freeze. Tears well up in my eyes and I let out a silent sob.

I take the photo I wish never existed, merely because of the pain it causes, and stand up. I rush out of my room and down the hall. I need to find a phone, now. I see one hanging on the wall and hastily make my towards it. I quickly punch the number in and inpatiently wait for her to answer.

"Hello?" My mom answers.

"How dare you!" I spit at her.

"Arielle?" she sounds surprised.

"You had no right!" I scream, tears streaming down my face.

"Honey, what are you-"

"The picture!" I cut her off, already knowing what she was going to ask. "That was put up! In my private stuff!"

"Ma'am, please keep it down," a nurse asks me, but I ignore her.

"Look I just thought you would have packed it if you had the chance, so I did," she says in a soothing voice.

"I don't care! If I wanted it I would have asked you to bring me it," I sob. I doubt she could even understand me. "I put them all up for a reason!"

"Honey, calm down," she tells me. I hold the phone between my ear and shoulder as I begin stratching my scars.

"Don't tell me to calm down!" I sob. "I didn't want to see them again! Ever!"

"Ma'am please be quiet," the nurse repeats.

"Shut up!" I turn towards her.

"You're bleeding," she states, look at my wrist where I continue to scratch.

I ignore her and listen to what my mom says. "I'm sorry, I just assumed-"

"Exactly! You assumed! This is why I hate you!" I spat. "All of you! I hate you all!"

"Miss Garland," a deep British accents rings through my ears.

"How could you?" I whimper before slamming the phone down, hanging up. I turn to Dr. Styles and shoot daggers at him with my eyes.

"My office, come on," he motions for me to follow him. I reluctantly keep in step behind him, not even bothering to wipe the tears that keep on spewing out of my eyes.

"Sit," he says, holding the office door open for me. When I walk through it he shuts the door and I notice Harry in a chair off to the side.

"Harry, go help Jannette out in the art room," Dr. Styles orders. I wonder if Dr. Styles is his dad or are related since they both have an accent.

"Okay," he stands, his eyes landing on mine with concern floating in them.

"Alright," Dr. Styles sighs when we are alone. "Want to tell me why you're crying?" he asks, and I just stay silent. "Okay, how about who you were yelling at over the phone?"

Again, silence when I don't answer. I see no point in answering. It won't make me feel better, it won't make my pain disappear. It won't erase the past or make me forget. All it'd be is me complaining and telling some old guy, who thinks he could help, a whole bunch of my screwed up stuff. Which is all completely pointless.

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Hope you like it!