The Moment I Knew (Larry Stylinson)

Chapter 24

A/N

Guys, I just want you to know that I will be updating more.

I haven't been updating more than once a week because I've been at camp.

I couldn't write more than two chapters in the two days that I was home between camp sessions, which was only enough for the two weeks of camp.

And for the past two weeks, I've had band camp for nine hours a day, so I've been extremely busy and really tired when I get home.

I'm so sorry that I haven't been updating much, but I'll try harder, especially since bandcamp ends after Friday.

Btw, yes, all three titles of this series are named after Taylor Swift songs. The first two were mainly because I was listening to them while trying to come up with a title and then I decided that they would make good titles. The last one was intentional because I felt like I had to keep with the pattern.

So kudos to anyone who got that!

Love you!

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Louis's POV

Needless to say, Stan tried to wrestle me back inside of the psychiatrist's office.

Dr. Benson came out and said politely that he had permitted me to leave and that Stan could take me home.

Stan had looked between us skeptically and so had I. But I had gone alone with it.

I promptly locked the door to my room and spent the rest of the day under my covers once I got home.

I had ignored the protests of my mum and Stan. I just needed to be alone in my foggy mind.

The next two appointments with Dr. Benson went in a similar fashion.

Stan would literally drag me inside and I would usually storm out no more than a half hour later.

He talked to me about simple things. Footie, my family, my favorite foods or colors or really anything basic.

I didn't understand it and I kept myself heavily guarded.

I didn't trust him.

"Get up, Louis," became Stan's greeting.

"Go away," became mine, muffled under a pillow or blanket.

Of course I ended up being physically dragged out of bed and forced into clothes I didn't want to put on.

Stan didn't have to quite carry me out kicking and screaming, but I always voiced my protests loudly.

"I don't need to go to this fucking shrink! He isn't helping me a bit! I don't even like him! He's such a fucking bastard, talks to me about footie and food the whole bloody time," I drawled, ignoring the looks from my mum when I swore.

I nibbled half-heatedly on a piece of toast before throwing it away and jerking on a beanie.

"This isn't up for discussion, Louis," my mum said warily.

I walked out and Stan followed me.

We drove in silence until he parked in the carpark of the office building.

"Please tell me you can see what shit this is," I grumbled, putting my feet up on his dashboard.

He gave me a look, similar to the exasperated ones my mum gave me.

"It's not shit, Louis. Like it or not, you're going to keep going until you get whatever you've got bottled up inside of you sorted out," he said.

"Look at you, being such a fucking philosopher. Why don't you be my therapist?" I snapped.