I Hate You (Larry Stylinson) ✅

21. climax

Feb 25

Louis POV

I don't stop running until I round the corner and get to the alleyway behind the Costa I work at. (They didn't fire me after all, but they did cut my hours significantly and my chance of getting manager is now in the toilet). Catching my breath, I sit down against the brick wall and take a cigarette out of my back pocket.

I bring it to my lips and light up. I thought the smoke would help calm me down, offering me that sweet, blissful release it usually does when I'm tired or stressed. But instead, I just feel worse - even more anxious than I was before.

Groaning, I open my phone to a bunch of missed calls and text messages. That bastard!

Of course Liam told the others. Of course he did. Now they're all after me like I'm some kind of mental patient....

Which technically I am. But I'm not that bad...am I?

I know what I did seems crazy. Throwing a clipboard, cursing at my doctors. That's not me. I didn't want to do it. But I had to - I just had to. Because the pain inside my chest has been crushing me since the minute I started this whole recovery process, and I couldn't stand another minute of it.

Control.

When I was starving, I had control of everything. My food, my diet, my exercise. Now these doctors have control of all of that. They ripped the control right from my hands and they won't let me fucking forget it.

"Louis, you didn't follow the meal plan and you're not in good shape. We highly recommend inpatient."

Highly recommend inpatient. Well guess what? I highly recommend going back to medical school and reevaluating how to talk to your patients.

Talking down to me like I'm some fucking incapable idiot. Absolutely not. I won't tolerate it.

So yes, I'm angry. But I'm not stupid - I know I'm sick. I know it's bad. I know I need to accept their help.

But i couldn't bring myself to follow their rules. I still can't.

Now, I look down at my hands, one of which is splattered in blood. I guess I cut myself when I threw the clipboard, or on my way out or while I was running. Who even knows anymore?

As I wipe the wound with my shirt sleeve, I feel it burn a little. I cringe and look into the cut - it's pretty deep. Looks bad.

That's what I wish people realized. How deep this disorder is. How it was never about the food. How much pain I've been suffering for ages, even before I met Harry. Even before he made that comment.

Sighing, I decide to open some of the text messages. I need to take my mind off my thoughts, which are nothing but jumbled and self deprecating.

Liam: hey mate. Where did you run off to? Sorry you're upset. Give me a ring

Niall: heard what happened. I tried to call but you didn't pick up. Let's chat soon!

Half a smile forms on my face as I digest their words. Niall and Liam are kind people, and I can tell they're doing their best to help and understand. But they can't even scratch the surface on the kinds of things I'm going through. They just don't know me the way Harry does....

Speaking of Harry, I begin to scroll through his messages as well and feel my stomach drop as I read his words.

Harry: hey, I heard what happened and I'm so sorry you're feeling frustrated
Harry: I know it's so hard - and the way the doctors talk to you can be so upsetting. It's like you're a kid or something
Harry: it's gonna suck a ton but I know you can push through it, Lou.
Harry: I really care for you and I want you to feel better