Red // harry styles

// one

Red. The colour is quite remarkable. It is the colour that signifies both love and hate. Anger and adoration. It is either a colour that can bring you pure joy or sheer dread. It is also the rich colour of blood. And right now, whilst I was sat in this red room, the colour red all around me makes me feel the overwhelming emotions of both love and hate, dread and joy, anger and adoration.

The assistant looked up from her computer. It better be my name being called, my appointment was supposed to be 15 minutes ago.

"Harry Styles, Dr. Winton is ready for your session." Finally. These weekly sessions are annoying enough without having to wait 20 minutes longer for my Doctor to be "ready" for me. I slowly stood up, my height extending to have a quick stretch, before making my way to the door, gulping the remains of my water and throwing the plastic cup in the trash. Here I go.

I walk in to the room and take the seat at the opposite side of the desk to Dr. Winton. We exchange our hello's and she asks me how I've been; the usual shit that gets asked every session. At first, I'll admit it took me a while to open up to her, I thought she was just here to judge me and take notes on my personal life in that bloody black notebook of hers. I still do. I don't think I have said one personal thing or opened up to her in any of my sessions. So why do I waste my time coming here? According to numerous people it will supposedly 'help' my emotionally damaged brain. Absolute bullshit.

"How have you been Harry?"

"Fine. You already asked me."

"No, Harry. I mean how are you? How are you dealing with everything? I know you've been through a tough time, but you are going to actually have to talk to me some day, make these sessions a bit more worthwhile. Your friends are worried about you, and so am I. So truthfully - how are you?"

Another pathtic attempt at trying to get some emotional shit out of me. Again, not happening.

"Look Harry, I think we both know that these sessions aren't going anywhere useful. So, I've decided to try something different. I want -"

"What is it this time? Oh I'd love to hear. Delight me."

"Actually, I think you may semi accept this idea. I know you like writing. I called up Zayn, the one who sent you to these sessions in the first place, asking him if he had any suggestions on how to make some progress with you. He said you liked writing. So, I thought if you aren't going to talk to me, you don't have to. I want you to write down what you feel. Every day, I want you to write something down. It can be a sentence or 2 pages, just get something off of your chest. You are sinking Harry, and it's my job to do something about it and keep your head above the water."

She handed me a red leather book with red elastic around it. Red. I'm starting to think it's old Winton's favourite colour. No way was I keeping a diary. That shit's for girls. I placed the book back on the table and slowly slid it across the desk. I don't need to let out my feelings, I'm fine. And the sooner people realize that the better.

"Harry. You need to tell somebody, and if it isn't going to be me, then write it down. We can cut down your visits to weekly, if that persuades you?"

Now that's an idea I like. I guess I could take the book just to keep her and my friends happy. But no way, am I writing in that red book. No way. I was growing tired of this now, I just wanted to leave.

"Are we done now?" I'd been in this place plenty enough in the past week to last me a life time. I snatched the book off of the table.

"I guess so. Do yourself a favour Harry and write in the book!" I had already walked out of the door, her voice growing more distant as I walked out of that goddamn red room, and out of that dreaded building.