Undercover (Larry Stylinson)

43. introspection

I'm sorry I took such a long break 

Louis' POV 

Why am I like this? 

The question rings in my head over and over but I can never seem to find an answer. I'm sitting at the doctor's office, fiddling with the headphone jack on my phone and wishing I hadn't forgotten my earbuds. If there was ever a time to drown out the thoughts in my head it would be now. 

But of course, I don't have anything to cancel out the noise. And the thoughts twist around in my head like a tornado, causing me to grip onto the arm rest for balance. 

I fucking hate this. I fucking hate going to the doctor, when I'm so clearly a healthy weight. When I so clearly don't need help.

My doctors will tell you otherwise. Harry will tell you otherwise. 

But deep down, I know I don't deserve to be here. I'm not ill enough. I never was ill enough. 

It doesn't help that all the patients in here are drastically underweight. The guy who came in before me was like a walking skeleton - so thin that his clothes were dragging off him as he walked. He was even worse than Niall, at his lowest. 

Niall is a lot better now. Pretty much healthy and has his muscle tone back. He decided to move back to New York. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't happy about it.

Don't get me wrong, I liked the lad. But I always sensed something strange going on between him and Harry, especially after Niall admitted that he imagined Harry during his rape. 

They talked about it, apparently. According to Harry, they settled everything out, though he didn't go into details as to what they settled. If I had to guess, I would say that Niall had feelings for Harry. But Harry swears nothing of the sort. 

I guess I don't know who to believe-  my boyfriend or the raging voice inside my head who tells me to be suspicious of everyone and everything - including myself. 

Speaking of suspicions, I have a horrible feeling that my weight went up.... yeah, it definitely, definitely went up. 

Especially after all of those mojitos I had with Harry the other night at the Mexican place. And that cupcake, that fucking cupcake. 

I haven't even been working out at all. I'm allowed to. They fucking cleared me to exercise a few weeks ago. Not that I ever really needed to be on exercise restriction. 

But I honestly haven't even wanted to go lately. I used to force myself to go all the time after work, but recently I've just been spending my evenings cuddling with Harry. My therapist said to never prioritize the gym over the people I love. 

So I guess I actually am following her advice for once. But it doesn't make me feel any less guilty. In the moment, I feel amazing. I feel so safe and warm and content as I lay on Harry's chest watching reruns of Friends. 

But then, when it's over and I go back to my house - or he leaves to go to his place, I feel this kind of emptiness inside. This ever-evading guilt that rattles me to my core like the fucking exorcist. And I suddenly feel fat and disgusting and flabby and like I want to go out and run a million miles. 

I never do, though. I just lie there and let myself feel guilty, scrolling through my phone with teary eyes until I fall asleep. Then I wake up and do it again. 

No, the guilt hasn't stopped one bit in the past two months. But the purging has gone down significantly. Everyone keeps telling me how proud they are of me, how great I'm doing.