(HARRY'S POV)
When I get through my door, I immediately sprint up the stairs to my room.
Because it's not like I could face the rest of the world at this point anyway.
My mom isn't home, which I'm thankful for because I need a good scream.
I fumble onto my bed, get beneath the covers, and bury my face into my pillow.
I let out a scratchy scream, and hot tears stain the soft fabric.
I must've looked so stupid.
The worst part of it all is that I fucking loved it.
Loved it so fucking much.
Why am I so sick?
For the next week, I have Louis induced orgasms.
All by my fucking self.
Remember when I said I was scared of touching myself and I hated it?
...Not anymore.
Especially when Louis told me he did it too.
I haven't stopped since, really.
Louis keeps telling me I should just let loose once in a while, you know?
But my suicidal thoughts keep getting worse and worse.
They cage me in... Letting loose isn't really an option.
Jumping off bridges, slitting my wrists, and hanging from a rope aren't exactly nightmares anymore...
More like a dream I don't want to wake up from.
I don't know if I should voice my thoughts to Louis though...
I want to, I really do.
But I hate pity.
He'd look down on me if he knew I wanted to make a Clorox smoothie.
Right?
I wonder what my obituary would say.
"Death by cock."
Ha.
If only Louis knew how morbid his little Bambi was.
Bambi wishes it was him instead of his mom!
Wow, I'm cracking myself up.
This is bad.
I have to tell Louis.
Our next meeting is at my favorite fro-yo place, because I told Louis that I had an extreme love for their cookie dough soft serve.
He's so sweet.
And I don't deserve him.
"Okay... So." He starts off, looking through his notebook to get a clean sheet.
He writes the date, and chicken scratches the first question he's going to ask.
"Have you had any recent mood swings, changes in diet, or panic attacks in the last few weeks?" He asks, and I do a mental check list.
Mood swings? Aren't those a natural occurrence for me?
Changes in diet? I eat junk food still. Nothing's changed.
Panic attacks? The things that make you shake and take shallow breaths until you cry and can't talk? A couple, yeah.
I answer all these, and he pauses on the last one, looking at me like he's concerned.
YOU ARE READING
you put the O in disOrder ➢ (l.s)
Fanfiction((warning!: hey everyone! i wrote this when i was like 15-16? and i realized i never put a rating on this story. it's pretty explicit! (i tagged it as mature but i'm going to put in the description that it's 18+ just so it's very clear)) Orgasms...
