insane // harry styles

chapter three

song of the chapter: snap out of it - arctic monkeys

Aurora's POV

"What's today's episode of Therapy with Harry going to consist of?"

Harry chewed on his bottom lip as he stared at me, waiting for a response. His perpetual snide remarks were getting to me, and I was getting pretty ticked off. It was time for another psychiatrist appointment with me and he wasn't being any different from the last time he was here.

"You're supposed to call me Dr. Thornhill, you're my client, Harry."

He rolled up the sleeves of his plain white t-shirt, dressed up in something new, rather than the vivid, claret-coloured jumper he was wearing last week. I could make out the tattoos he had peeking out from underneath, like masterpieces of drawn art inked into his skin. I wondered what they were and how much it hurt since he had so many.

He noticed that I was studying his tattoos, so he moved his hand up his arm self-consciously, watching me with his eyes, and I pretended that I never peered in his direction.

"I'm sorry that I'd prefer to call you Aurora rather than Dr. Thornhill. Aurora's a nice name. With Dr. Thornhill, I feel like you're playing Dr. Phil with me."

"That's the whole reason why you and I are both here. I want to help you, Harry, I really, really, really do. You're acting like you don't need help. I'm here to support you, not to be against you or anything. So, it would be delightful if you just worked with me, then you can be released and you'll never have to see me again. Promise."

Harry shook his head, raising his voice a little, "But I don't need any help! I'm happy with having a mental illness! I don't need to see you. I wish people just let me live how I want to live my life. I'm not hurting anyone."

I stared at him directly in the eyes and I swore I could sense a hint of gloom gleaming in his deep emerald eyes, the sort of green that reminded you of the forest in the midst of the winter. He quickly diverted his attention back at his feet, knocking his knees together in unison.

"That's a complete lie, and you know it, Harry. Think of the reason why you were sent here. You were sent to me for a reason. You're so lucky that the government didn't take you then and there instead of just sending you to see a psychiatrist."

Harry crossed his arms over his chest, huffing. He looked like he didn't have anything else to say. I suppressed a smirk, happy that I made him shut up for once.

I continued, "I've diagnosed you with Bipolar Disorder I, because of the incident with John. I have to say, though, you haven't really showed moods of hypomania or depression just yet. You've been good lately, just very...infuriating."

His expression changed into what was a neutral countenance before turned into something sour like he was suddenly affected about something that I had said. "Don't mention his name," Harry spat through gritted teeth. "Just don't."

"I have to, Harry. We need to talk about it. You have to open up to me, I'm your psychiatrist. You're not going to get better unless you tell me everything, about how you felt and what was going through your mind at that time."

"You don't even know the full story; you just know what the government told you."

"So tell me then."

"No."

"I'm not letting you go until you tell me."

"I'll leave myself if you force me to."

"You can trust me, Harry. It's confidential, only between you and me. It's my job to figure out how your bipolar disorder begun in order to give you the help that you need."