Moments [H. Styles]

three

Therapy

  I hated going to therapy. It was the worst part of this whole thing, really. It was always ideal to stay quiet and not let anybody in. That is until one day when I lashed out on my mum, that's when I knew something was wrong.
  I screamed and yelled that it was her fault that this had happened and that she hadn't stopped my father. I was so angry with life that I would say anything to get it all out. I didn't mean a single word, though. It wasn't her fault. The only one to blame was my father, Karter Styles.
I would never ever forget it, it would be taken with me to the day I died. The way my father's slender, cold, bony fingers touched me. The way he begged me not to tell mum. The way he moaned my name and scolded me harshly for trying to yell for help.

  "Get off!" I whined loudly. "I want mummy." I cried as Ken took advantage of my innocence.

  "Shut the fuck up, Harry." Karter's harsh words stung. His hands gripped my neck tightly, his face in mine. "Don't say another damn word."

  So I did as I was told. I laid there silently, sobbing quietly.

  My eyes were cold. I hated my father beyond belief. "I don't want to be here." I muttered to my therapist, rolling my eyes.

  "There's a reason why you are, though. Want to tell me about it?" She studied me carefully.

  "No. I haven't told you about it the past three visits, what is different now?" I almost laughed, shaking my head. "I'm going to go find my mum. See you next week." I stood and walked out of the room, walking to the elevator. My legs led me outside and I just started walking, going anywhere.

I found himself standing outside of the Anderson household with tear filled eyes. My shaky hands knocked at the massive wooden door. Maybe ten seconds later, a beautiful brunette woman answered the door.

  "Hello!" She smiled down at the green-eyed boy that was oh so damaged. "May I help you, Harry?" She noticed my red, puffy eyes but decided against making a comment.

  "Is Beatrice home?" I spoke gently, smiling as best as I could. "Could she come out to play? Just for a little bit?"

  "Don't be silly, you're welcome in! She is upstairs in her room, I'll make you two a little snack." She gestured me up the beautiful dark wood stairs.

  "Thank you, Mrs. Anderson." I said politely, absentmindedly walking up the stairs. I knocked gently at the door with a pink and yellow wooden sign with 'Beatrice' on the front. "Bea? Can I come in? It's Harry." I bit my lip nervously.

  "Come in!" She shouted through the door. When I opened it I was welcomed with the sight of her doodling at her desk, her short legs swinging from the chair. "Hey, Harry." She smiled at me but frowned immediately when she saw my expression. "What's the matter?"

  "I need to tell you something." And so I did. I told her everything, every last thing I could think of. I tried not to cry but I just couldn't help it. Bea hugged me tightly and let me let it out. It was evident that I was hurting badly, that I needed help. That was the moment Beatrice knew she would do everything and anything to help, to make me happy.

  "I love you, Harry. Don't cry." She whispered, kissing me on the head gently. "I'm here for you."