Drowning || Larry Stylinson

chapter thirteen

Louis stared down at the card in his hand, twisting it between his fingertips over and over again. He nibbled on his bottom lip, trying to reason with himself that this was the best option for him. Dr. Latita had gently urged Louis to go to a therapist, and who was Louis to say that she was wrong to do so? He sighed and folded the business card back up into his pocket, shoving it deep down until he could feel the lint in the seams.

Louis was never one to admit weakness, though. He hated that he was having these attacks, and he wanted to have some sort of explanation for them. At the same time, though, Louis didn't want to tell anyone what he was thinking deep down on the inside. Nor did he want any of his bandmates or friends or family knowing that he was having continuing panic attacks. Last that Louis knew, everyone was just aware of the one attack and nothing more. All Louis could think of was one day, the news being spread to trashy gossip sites like TMZ. How could fans look up to him anymore knowing just how pathetic he felt?

With a sigh, Louis buried his face into his hands. He pressed his palms into his eye sockets until he saw star behind his lids. He stayed there for a few moments before he pulled away his hands, slapping them down on his thighs instead as he looked around the parking lot. All he could hope was no one had caught him yet. There were barely any cars in the lot, and the only people Louis had spotted out and about were a few joggers and an elderly couple that already had waddled their ways inside.

Suddenly, Louis's phone lit up with the notification of a phone call. He swallowed thickly, then willed himself to pick it up and swipe the 'accept' button. "Hello?" he greeted to the phone, waiting for the response on the other end. Instead of a human voice, the click of a call machine sounded. Louis listened in as the robotic voice told him that Dr. Marissa was ready to see him. He sighed and quickly turned off the phone before the robotic voice could drone on longer. He shoved the phone into his pocket, then grabbed his sunglasses and a jacket from the backseat. If Louis was going to be spotted at a therapist's office, he was at least going to look good doing it.

Louis made his way inside, taking in the sterile environment. He had expected the waiting room to be a bit more inviting, but Louis felt like he was waiting to be admitted into the psych ward. Louis rubbed the palms of his sweaty hands on the front of his jeans, trying to push down the nerves he was experiencing. It's all going to be okay, calm down, Louis thought to himself as he approached the receptionist stationed behind a sliding window. Louis smiled at the girl warmly as she slid the glass open, but she did not return the smile.

"Name?" the girl practically groaned, seeming annoyed that Louis was even standing within the same space as her.

Louis cleared his throat and then stammered out, "L-Louis Tomlinson."

The girl quirked an eyebrow, like she wanted to ask where she had seen him before. But then she decided against it and sighed, pointing towards the door to her right. "Go through there, take a left and follow the hallway around the curve. Door at the end will be Dr. Ramirez," she instructed before slamming the window shut. Louis jumped at the noise, but quickly shook it off and went the direction he was told to go.

Louis followed down the hallway, his hands shoved into his pockets so he wouldn't nervously pick at the skin around his fingernails. The past few weeks, especially with Harry around, Louis had picked up a few nervous tics that he wasn't sure how to shake. After a minute of walking, Louis came across a large green door at the end of a hall. He swallowed thickly, then approached the door, rapping his knuckles against it a few times.

"Come in!" a woman's voice called from inside the room.

Louis opened up the door, his eyes widening a bit when he saw how colorful the office was. It looked more like the inside of a children's playroom than it did the office of a licensed therapist. For a moment, Louis thought he maybe came through the wrong hallway. But when he peeked his head around the doorframe to look at the placard by the door, it read 'Dr. Marissa Ramirez'. Louis chuckled awkwardly as he waved at the therapist, who sat behind a large red desk with a whimsical golden lamp and an open laptop on it.