Rehabilitation (Harry Styles)

Chapter Twelve

Just so everyone knows, this story is not about romanticising abusive relationships. It's purely about how it effects people and to bring awareness to it.

Can we get this chapter to 15 votes??

The paint brush in my hand feels so familiar but foreign at the same time. I want to be able to embrace the brush and just paint whatever my heat desires but I can't. I can't because my heart simply doesn't desire it. The only thing my heart feels while holding this paint brush is pain and despair. Along with that the good memories are replaced with all the terrible ones.

"What are you painting," Dean comes up behind me, placing his arms around my waist and his chin on my shoulder.

"An angel," I say and ignore him as he begins to kiss my neck.

"Hmm," he hums. "Lets go to the room."

"Not right now Dean," I pull away from him which was a big mistake. He grabs my hair and pulls me back towards him.

"I wasn't asking," he growls and sucks on my neck before biting down on it harshly.

"Ow! Stop Dean!" I kick him in his ankle and he stumbles back. I turn towards him and glare at him. "What is wrong with you! You can't keep treating me this way! God, we're over. You'll be lucky if I don't go to the police and tell them what you and your disgusting friends did to me. I should have left a long time ago." I wipe a tear falling down my cheek before turning away to leave.

"You're so delusional," he stomps up behinds me and yanks on my arm so I face him. "You aren't going anywhere. And if you were gonna tell the police you would have done it by now. But you haven't nor have you left me. You know why that is, sweetie?"

"Dean," I sniffle.

"Shut up Arielle!" He screams. "You know why? Do you?" his grip tightens and he shakes me.

"No," I sob out.

"It's because you're a whore and you enjoyed it! And if you were too leave me you know that you'd be all alone. No one else loves you Arielle, no one even likes you. And you know that."

"That's not true," I weakly defend.

"Oh, baby," he fake pouts and shoves his face right in front of me. "It is very true. And the only reason I'm still here is because I feel sorry for you and sadly I fell in love with you before I knew the real you."

I throw the paint brush down and it hits the plastic cup which has a whole bunch of art pencils and brushes in it. Most of the stuff fall off the table making a some noise so everyone looks at me. I sigh and bend down to pick up the mess I made. It really makes me sad that art isn't what it used to be for me anymore.

I go to walk out of the room when the main nurse in the room stops me.

"Arielle, Dr. Styles would like to see you." she tells me and I just nod. I make my way to his office. The door is shut so I knock and wait for him to answer it. He yells for me to come in so I do. When I see who is in the room my face falls and anger and anxiety builds up inside me.

"Please sit down," he tells me and I do it while scowling. "You know why you're here?"

"Do you mean in this room right now or just this hell hole in general?" I snap, avoiding eye contact.

"Here," he sighs. "Right now."

"No, I presume its because of them."

"Yes," he nods slowly, obviously observing me.