Uni (A Larry Stylinson Story) ✅

Moving Forward

After spending the night in the hospital, I woke up to a doctor standing over me. "Um, hey," I said quietly. "Can I go home now?"

The doctor, a tall older man with thin white hair and a mustache, shook his head and tapped on his clipboard. "No, not yet. I'm Dr. Andrews. I'm a psychiatrist. I'm here to evaluate you," he said, pulling up a chair next to my bed.

"Okay, but the thing is I feel fine now. So I think I can leave. There's no need for an evaluation," I explained, sitting upright in my bed. 

"Mr. Tomlinson. Was your binge drinking yesterday a suicide attempt?" he asked as he furrowed his thick eyebrows together. Wow, I thought. This guy doesn't hold back. 

"Um, that's a bit blunt. But no, not at all," I said, rubbing my wrist where the IV was located. "I was going through a rough situation with my boyfriend-- and my ex. I was just upset, that's all." I watched as he wrote something on his clipboard. 

"Louis, I was made aware that they found self-harm marks on your legs. And that there's evidence you've been purging. Does that sound correct?" the doctor said, clicking his pen. 

Oh, for fuck's sake, I thought. Get this guy off my back. 

"Yeah," I said, my voice rising. "Listen, I'm not going to sit here and lie to you. You can look up my files, which I'm sure you already have. I have a history of self harm. I was diagnosed with anorexia, depression, anxiety, and PTSD from a traumatic relationship. I also struggle with over-exercising and cutting. I went to rehab in the UK. Look it all up, it's there. I recovered almost entirely. I still take my meds and call my therapist once a week. Sometimes I have slip-ups. I'm not perfect, but it's part of life."

The doctor nodded, an amused smile spreading across his thin lips. "Yes, I know all that. The question is, why is the problem worsening right now?"

Jesus, I just wanted to fucking go home. "I've been under quite a bit of stress. My ex-- he accused me of rape and dumped me in a really homophobic manner. I saw him again, with my current boyfriend. He was tutoring him-- he's actually a tutor though. And my boyfriend had no idea it was my ex. But I overreacted. I got really upset and I drank a lot to cope. And I purged," I said, trying not to wince as I relived that awful situation. "But I assure you, as soon as I leave here, I'll up my therapy to twice a week and work harder at self-care. There's really nothing to discuss here. I can take care of myself."

I was trying so hard to suppress my temper. I knew from experience that it would only make things worse if I blew up at the doctors. But if I had my way, I would rip out my IV and jolt out of the hospital bed and throw that stupid doctor's clip board right in the bin (trash). But that wouldn't get me out of here -- if anything, it would get me admitted. 

"Is right now really a good time to be dating someone?" The doctor asked, skeptically. "You know, in the midst of your crises. It seems to be adding to the stress, doesn't it?"

I felt my hands shake as I tried desperately to control the rage bubbling up inside my chest. "No," I said slowly, my voice cracking a bit. "I think that's a personal matter that's not something for you to judge or discourage. Harry is very understanding and offers his support with these types of things. Now, if you'd excuse me, I really have to use the bathroom. I think I'll call  the nurse now to undo this IV."

I rang the nurse button several times. The doctor nodded slowly, frowning as he got up from his seat. "We'll be in touch," he said on his way out. 

Thank Jesus, I thought to myself with a deep sigh of relief. Get that prick out of here. 

I was a lot of things, but I wasn't suicidal. I never had been--even after what transpired yesterday in the library. I haven't had those feelings in months. I might be fucking up constantly with not eating and cutting, but I sure as hell didn't want to die. Not when I had those big green eyes staring at me and those cute little curls to run my hands through....

As the nurse helped me to the bathroom -- I really didn't need any help, but she insisted on following me -- I thought about Harry and how awful I had been to him. I fucking punched him. That's like seriously, super duper fucked up. I shook my head and then pulled my pants down and started to pee. 

After using the bathroom, I walked over to the sink to wash my hands. The reflection looking back at me was horrendous. My eyes were bloodshot and my hair was greasy and plastered to my face. Dark stubble covered my chin dull, lifeless eyes stared back at me in the tiny mirror. I rubbed my thigh, gingerly, tracing over the marks I had made. Then I lifted my shirt, and inspected my stomach, which looked thinner than usual. What was I fucking doing to myself? 

As I walked out of the bathroom that afternoon, I swore to myself I would make some changes. If not for me, for Harry. And for Niall too. They cared so much about me, and I wasn't about to let my thoughts bring me back down. 

This time, I had to fight.