Songbird ; Fred Weasley

Ninety-eight

"I'm not going to some hippie place!"

Fred looked up at me as I had pushed myself off the sofa, feeling irritated at the idea of going to the mental clinic we had just looked at on the computer.

"C'mon, it's not hippie—"

"Art therapy? Mindfulness? Meditation? Yoga? No way. That's some rich arse hippie shit right there, and I refuse to take part."

Fred dropped back on the sofa and let out a huge sigh.

"One of the fucking doctors looks like Sheldon fucking Cooper from that new show."

"What new show?"

"The Big Bang Theory." I said. "The first episode aired two months ago."

He stared blankly at me before he looked down at the computer screen again.

"They treat for anxiety, depression, PTSD and a lot more." He told me. "And they've got this big garden with lemon tree—"

"I don't want any dumb lemon trees." I folded my arms over my chest, frowning at my fiancé.

He ran a hand through his hair, taking a moment before he spoke in a calm tone.

"I thought we agreed that this is what we're doing. We're finding you a clinic or a hospital. Somewhere you can stay and get better."

"Yeah but not somewhere with hippies and Sheldon Cooper and fucking lemon trees!"

"How about this one?" Max asked from across the room. He was sitting in one of the other sofas, his own laptop in front of him. "It's in Berkshire somewhere. On the countryside. You get your own suite with a queen-sized bed and your own bathroom. There's individual and group therapy. To be admitted, you have to make an appointment with one of the doctors and they'll say if they think you should be admitted or just attend the usual therapy."

I scoffed, folding my arms over my chest. "No offence, Max, by why are you here right now?"

Max cocked an eyebrow at me.

"I'm going to ignore that question, but only because I know you're only speaking to me in that way because you're embarrassed for some reason."

I ignored him, turning to Fred.

"I know I agreed to this, but—" I let out a huge sigh. "We're supposed to move to New York and plan our wedding."

"And we will. We aren't moving for another two months and we aren't planning anything until we're moved in. That leaves us plenty of time for you to get treatment."

I bit down on my lip, staring at him, silently begging him with my eyes.

"Babe, what are you so scared of?" Max asked, but I didn't take my eyes off Fred. "You've already told us everything that happened with Eric. You just have to do it again to these specialists, so they can help you get through the trauma."

I closed my eyes, mentally cussing myself out for lying to them.

Well, I wouldn't call it lying.

Just holding back, because there was things they definitely didn't know. It had been five months since it happened, so I didn't see the point in worrying them further with what Eric did in that basement.

It wasn't sexual assault or anything. No, no matter how much I hate his guts, he wouldn't do that to his daughter.

No, he simply continued to beat me up even after I fell down those stairs. All of my injuries didn't come from the fall. Some came from the way he beat me unconscious.