Flaws || h.s.

Chapter Twenty Three

a/n: this story is coming to a close. Thank you all so much for 90k reads, I've honestly never felt so loved. Each and every one of you mean a hell of a lot to me so thanks. For everything.

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        The next few weeks were spent out on the town with Harry at night and teaching beginner dance classes during the day. I met so many of his London friends that I didn't really make any of my own. I didn't exactly get the chance. That was fine by me, though; all of his friends were warm and welcoming and for once in my life I had plans every night. I started drinking again due to the fact that I forgot why I stopped. We drank and partied and I'd picked up the bad habit of smoking in a bar one night with his friend's girlfriend Carly.

        Harry was off from work for the next month and, other than his cousins wedding, we didn't have any solid plans. We discussed taking a vacation, but we agreed we were perfectly content staying in London, drunkenly wrapped in each other's arms.

        When I was not clubbing with Harry and his friends, I taught dance classes at the local dance studio. The young girls and one young boy loved me, and I enjoyed being around them, too. Ballet is what got me through all those hard years, and it still makes me happy to this day. I remember being in their shoes, stumbling across the floor, hoping to be like the girls on stage, so poised and perfect and... skinny. 

        Anyway, our neighbors were nice. A thirty-something single father and his eight year old daughter lived across the hall and girl a few years older than me lived next door. The man brought us a tray of cookies his daughter suggested they make as a welcome present, but we didn't see much of the twenty something girl with red hair that lived next door. I baby sat the young girl, Hannah, once or twice, and she thought it was just so cool that I taught ballet.

        I was a mess but I was happy in those few weeks after graduation. Harry was still his put together, care free self. We were so fascinated and in love with each other that we forgot all the fights we had ever had and we forgot how fucked up I was. We were happy and we were working; For once in my life things were working. 

        Since that night of my graduation, I stopped hurting myself and I stopped purging and I was eating (almost) normally. Yeah, it was still hard to get out of bed some mornings and yeah, I  still thought about dying sometimes but I was getting better. I was okay. Harry was so insistent that I kept taking my meds and talking to Dr. Taylor no matter how good I felt. The pills and doctor didn't help much, but I figured if it made Harry happy, I would do as I was told and stay on track. 

        I saw Dr. Taylor twice a week. He asked me about my mood,  my eating, if I was hurting myself, how often I thought about hurting myself, et  cetera, et cetera. Now he was worried about my drinking, as if I would ever in a million years show up drunk to a therapy session. Did he really think I was that stupid?

        "You've told me your father was an alcoholic," Dr. Taylor said.

        "Yes," I replied, wondering where it was leading.

        "Alcoholism can be hereditary," he continued.

        "Are you calling me an alcoholic?" I felt myself closing off. As soon as I get better, everyone thinks there has to be something wrong with me. Can't I just be okay? "I'm not an alcoholic. I have this under control."

        "No. Just sharing my observations," Dr. Taylor smirked. "You seem very defensive right now. Why do you think that is?"

        "I'm fine," I said, my voice growing smaller and smaller by the second. "I promise."