Malignant [h.s]

Thirty Nine

I sit quietly in the optometrists waiting room with Harry and his salty attitude right next to me. I finally convinced him to go get his eyes checked. I'm surprised I actually got him here, part of me thinks it's only because he feels a bit bad for the bruises he left on me- but I know that's not true. If their is something I've learned since being here it's that Harry never feels bad for the decisions he makes, and he gets really mad if you question his authority.

Harry sits awkwardly in the waiting room chair, completely out of his usual surroundings. Even though he is sitting in an adult chair, his legs seem way to long for it. He's the only one in here with a leather jacket on and no one seems to want to make eye contact with him- almost like their too intimidated. Who am I kidding, Harry is a very intimidating person.

He sits there bored out of his mind, scrunching back in his chair and leaving his legs open. I sit in the chair next to him with my back straight up and my legs overlapping each other. Anyone who doesn't know us would see that right away we don't get along, just by the way we sit. We are polar opposites in every aspect possible and I realize it more and more everyday.

"If the doctor doesn't come out in five minutes then I'm leaving." Harry murmurs to me.

"We've only been here for ten minutes at most." I say in disbelief. Why is he so impatient?

"Yeah well I shouldn't even be here to begin with. I got other shit to do then sit here in a waiting room that's playing shitty elevator music." He argues quietly.

"Well it's not elevator music if it's not playing in an elevator." I correct.

"Smart ass." He murmurs lightheartedly. I smile lightly at my snide comment that he found more humorous then argumentative. Everyone else in this room is way less angry looking then Harry. They all look like more normal people, definitely not gang members.

Harry is by far the most intimidating man in here. What do other people do down here if they aren't apart of the gang? Like shouldn't this underground society only be for the men in leather jackets? I remember that Zayn was not a gang member, he was a tattoo artist. So I guess other people down here have jobs like that.

But how did they end up here? I'm sure you don't find an ad laying around saying 'Now hiring! Underground deadly gang society Malignant!' Or something like that.

"Okay I'm leaving." Harry snaps me out of my own conspiracies and stands to his feet. I huff and stare up a him.

"Harry come on ju-" I start but suddenly get caught of guard by a man in a white lab coat enter the waiting room.

"Mr. Styles." He says, not needing to even look at the clipboard. He looks directly at Harry standing up in front of me. How does he know that he's Mr. Styles? Is Harry really that well known around here?

I shoot a small smirk up at Harry and he submissively rolls his eyes before turning around to the doctor. I stand up to my feet and follow Harry into the private room.

"Just take a seat right here Mr. Styles." The doctor says while looking at his clipboard. Harry quietly slumps into the chair at the far end of the room while I sit off to the side.

"So you're experiencing chronic headaches and dizziness?" He asks while reading the chart.

"Yeah." He says shortly while twisting the rings on his fingers.