Therapy (Harry Styles)

Chapter 3 - Harry

Harry mumbled to himself as he made his way down the sidewalk. Each stone that he stepped over had to be accounted for. "35.." He muttered to himself, his eye fixated onto the concrete. Harry sighed a bit as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. He wanted more than anything not to be like this, to be able to walk in public without getting the judgemental stares and having parents push their child away from the "crazy man". But, he just couldn't bring himself to stop, no matter how much he tried. "40.." He whispered, stopping suddenly when he realized he had stepped on a crack in the sidewalk. "Step on a crack, break your mother's back.." He repeated the saying he had heard many times from his sister. His eyes widened, unable to go on once he had stepped on that small imperfection. So, Harry backed up until he was in front of the door of the therapist's office and started all over once again.

Harry had made it home an hour later. His small dorm room was perfectly kept the way he had left it. About three months ago, Harry's roommate had changed dorms, unable to take Harry's antics for the school year. But Harry didn't mind. Yes, he wanted friends more than anything, but he couldn't stand the thought of sharing a space, and possibly germs with someone. Especially someone as messy as Josh had been. He carefully hung his coat up onto the hanger, next to the other black one and far away from the blue, and he made his way to the couch, sitting down on the edge that was still wrapped in plastic. Harry carefully observed his dorm room, his eye averting to the bathroom which had the door swung open, that's when he noticed a smudge on the side of the toilet. Harry exhaled loudly, feeling his hands begin to shake at such a thing and he stood up, grabbing the bleach and the scrubber and made his way into the bathroom.

More than an hour later, Harry was still scrubbing. His knuckles were raw, and even the bandaids which remained there from the last time this happened (only the night before) were starting to become worn and held no protection for his dry hands. In addition to this, Harry was crying. His mind kept wandering from one thing to another. When you have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, you never get quiet moments. "Did you lock the door?" He would mumble to himself, only for it to be followed with a "Yes." 

"Did you put the sponge on the side of the sink?" 

"Yes."

"Did you lock the door?"

"Yes." 

And so on. His mind was constantly wandering, and it never stopped.

Once Harry was sure everything was spotless, he stood up and put away the bleach and the scrubber in it's rightful place under the sink and made his way back to the bathroom where he'd scrub his hands until they were even more raw.

This was about the time where Harry's mind would review his day, thinking about how it needed to go perfectly as planned, and if he forgot to do something, he couldn't go to sleep until it was done. Harry's mind wandered back to the therapist's office, suddenly the picture of the girl popped into his head, making Harry suddenly realize what had him so intrigued by her. It was the eyelash on her cheek. There it was, to everyone else like a needle in a haystack, but to Harry it was so noticable. It was now all he could remember about the girl, he couldn't remember her hair, or her eyes, or what she was wearing. It was just that one eyelash, and for some reason, Harry felt as though he wanted to get to know her.