Deserted with Luke Hemmings (Lashton) (Boyxboy)

Chapter 15~

A/N:*takes all my anger out in my writing*

Chapter 15:

I'm angry, so painfully, visibly angry. My fury did not go unnoticed by my father, and I know it will only be a matter of time before he comes upstairs to talk to me about it.

There's just so much stuff going on at the moment, and it's all such bullshit.

So I survive on an island for 3 months, right? But then I come back to drama that is actually worse than not having wifi for 3 months??

Not trying to be stereotypical or anything, but calum and Luke are acting so fucking gay. At least, in the way gays are typically portrayed on tv. They're like bitchy middle schoolers except they occasionally punch each other.

I loved Luke (i mean I still kind of do), and calums nice enough, but I just don't really ever want to talk to them again right now.

It kind of sucks only having two friends. Especially when they're both in love with you.

I hear a knock at my door, and sigh, before opening my bedroom door. Of course it's my dad. My day really does keep on getting better and better.

"You're going to therapy, Ashton." My dad says, without even a simple hello or how are you.

"What?" I question, having to force myself not to swear because then my dad will be worried and angry.

"You're obviously having a hard time coping with life right now, and I think you need help."

A hard time dealing with life? Okay maybe I punched a window, and maybe I've listened to little things on repeat for the last 5 days, but I think I'm doing alright.

"Pft that's bullshit," I say, feeling that it is now completely necessary to swear (when is it not, though?).

"I don't want you to turn to drugs or get drunk or whatever to get rid of your sadness."

Sadness? More like pissed-off-ness. And it's kind of too late for the whole "don't get drunk" thing. When I was at an extremely low point the other day I got drunk off wine while having a bubble bath (and yes, I was listening to little things at the same time).

Maybe I am having a hard time dealing with life. But not in the sadness sense, more like in the I-have-no-future-and-no-friends sense.

"Pft, as if I, a 17 year old teenage boy, would ever get drunk!" I say, sarcasm lacing my voice.

"Ashton, you're going to therapy,"

"Okay, but I'm not gonna talk to the therapist."

"That's your choice. By the way, you have your first session in 20 minutes, so get changed out of those pajamas," my dad says, his nose wrinkling as he motions to my (beautiful) One direction pajamas.

I mumble fuck a few times until I roll out of bed and on to the ground. I practically drag myself across my floor and to my wardrobe.

I pick out some random articles of clothing and chuck them on.

Then grabbing my phone, I go downstairs with a sigh.

"I'm going to drive you, Ashton, just to make sure you actually go." My dad says, with a stern glare.

"You can drive me if I can pick the music," I say crossing my arms with a smirk.

"Fine," my dad says, and then we walk towards his car.

As we start driving I put on the song Break stuff by Limp bizkit.

I nod my head along to the lyrics, and I really hope that as the singer says "You don't really know why, but you want to justify ripping someone's head off," my dad realizes how pissed I am at him.

We finally arrive at the place, and my dad doesn't even say bye to me, he just drives off, saying he'll be here to pick me up in an hour.

As slowly as possible I walk into the building. It depressing as fuck inside. Loads of kids sit around in the dark waiting room, all looking like they're gonna kill someone.

I walk up to the reception and tell them my name. I am directed towards a room, and as I enter the room and see a Middle Aged woman holding a book in her hands titled "handling aggression" I almost walk straight back out of the room.

"You must be Ashton," the woman says with a clearly fake smile, "come sit down," she says motioning to a pile of multicolored fucking beanbags.

"Do you have any normal seats?" I ask.

"The beanbags will make you feel more comfortable, please sit down."

"I'm not 5," I say, trying to not loose my shit.

"Well, Ashton, you're already late, and I don't want to waste time getting a chair, so either sit on the beanbags or stand up," she says with a smile, and I swear if looks could kill...

"I'll stand up then," I say, smugly.

We go through a few bullshitty questions, before she hands me two questionnaires. The questionnaires are called "do you have depression?" And "are you overly aggressive?"

The question are so stupid. I grit my teeth and try my hardest not to punch something or yell at the therapist.

I try to calm down, but instead I feel tears of frustration forming in the corners of my eyes. Before I know what I'm even doing I rip up the questionnaires, and speed walk (I don't do running) out of the room.

I rush out of the building, wanting to be anywhere but near here right now.

I'm so furious, and frustrated, and I keep on doing stupid ass things.

I angrily wipe the tears out of my eyes, and as I think back over the therapy session I punch the wall of the building.

I hiss in pain as a clutch my wrist to my chest. Maybe I do have aggression issues....

"You're going to need to get ice on that," I hear a voice say from behind me.

I turn around to see a boy with black hair, one of his pierced eyebrows raised.

"Hi?"

"Hi, I'm Michael," he says with a grin.

"I'm Ashton, and I think I need to go to the hospital."

A/N: Thanks for 10k reads (: