Harry Styles Imagines

#72 Remedy

*Briefly touches on panic attacks and anxiety*

Summary: An issue involving Gemma gets Harry worked up, but with help from his mom and Y/N he realizes that life isn't always full of things hoped for. That's why there's special people to be there shine and storm.

REMEDY

Harry's POV

Did you take any meds, love?

That simple question on my phone screen not only burns into my cornea's, but my heart. It's one I thought I'd never be asked again. Especially by my mom. She's one of the only people who cares enough to be genuinely worried about my mental health. But she shouldn't be on a day like today. My last panic attack happened two weeks ago. The only difference between then and now is that the one before was triggered by a personal experience.

For the last few days, my grip on my thoughts have been pretty weak. Especially with everything with Gemma's restraining order against her ex-boyfriend. The first time she called me, crying, and told me that he had laid a hand on her, I was damn near ready to beat the blue out of his eyes. The only thing that held me back was 3,256 miles made up of land and water.

A guy hasn't felt true rage feels until his sister is mistreated by another man. Hearing her voice as defeated and weak as it was was one of the worst experiences of my entire life. Even though the papers are in the works to settle their case, the thought of him attempting to do it again won't leave my head. I can slam as many doors and throw as many objects as humanly possible, but there's literally nothing I'd be able to do. Nothing. And that feels like a knife to the gut.

My thumbs quickly grace over an "n" and "o." Her reply comes fast.

Please take some. You have to believe me when I say Gemma is fine and good as of now. Is Y/N home from the shop yet?

No.

Very well, then. I'm messaging her.

A throaty groan leaves my mouth, but I don't make any effort to convince her not to. My knees are still bobbing and my cheeks are still wet from the tears that rolled down them. Maybe the best thing for me is to listen to somebody's instructions for once. Specifically, the beneficial ones. My mom knows Y/N will make me.

Not even two minutes later, my phone goes off. "Hello?" I say upon answering.

"Hi. Why the hell didn't you call me? I would've came home, Harry," she says. For someone out in a public place, her voice is nowhere near calm or collected. I can almost picture the eyes of the curious shoppers around her.

Not waisting any time, I pull the phone away from my ear and put it on speaker. "M'better. Everything's okay, love."

She scoffs. "Yeah. Okay. Sure. Go to our bathroom right now and take your meds. When I get home we're talking," she says.

"But I don't want to take any meds," I say.

There's shuffling in the background and then a long sigh. "Listen, I know taking them suck and make you feel different, but it's for your own benefit, Harry. Who's to say you won't have another episode sometime soon?" she asks.

I know she's right. She's usually always right. As much as I like to believe she doesn't know what's best for me—like my mom—she does, and it's a good thing. That's one of the things my stubborn side has to accept.

Life isn't always about what you want to do, it's about what you should and are capable of doing. There's no point in working against those things.