My Escape || Larry Stylinson

Hello

A/N:
Song: Hello By Evanescence

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Niall's Pov:

I could tell Louis doesn't want to go at all, but it's for the best.  We both know that.

He got into the car rather slowly, before I drove off.

"Aren't you going to put on your seatbelt?" I asked, glancing at him once in awhile.

"What's the point?" He quietly asked.

"For your safety, and so I don't have to pay a fine if a cop catches you," I reasoned with him.  He remained quiet and I continued to drive.

Once we got to the clinic, I checked in for Louis.  We waited a couple of minutes before they called Louis, leaving me behind.

Louis' Pov:

"So what seems to be going on, Louis?" The doctor asked.

I stayed quiet, not wanting to start an unreasonable conversation with a person who doesn't give a shit about me.  All they care about is the money.  Nothing else.

"Okay, well...is there anything going on at home, Louis?" He asked again, his eyes looking down at his piece of paper.

I just ignored him. The last thing that happened at my house was fighting with Tia. 

It's. All. My. Fucking. Fault.

"I'm just going to give you a sheet to fill out, and I'll come back in a few minutes, okay Louis?" He was obviously annoyed, as was I. He can't even pronounce my name right.

"Okay Lewis?"

"Lewis?"

"What's going on Lewis?"

Please Mr. Dumbass, learn how to pronounce you're patient's names.

He gave me the sheet, which contained only depression questions:

"Have you had any depressing thoughts such as cutting, ending your life, or hurting yourself?"

"Have you ever cut?"

"Have you ever planned on killing yourself?"

"Have you tried to kill yourself?"

And so on.

Let's just say, every question had a circle around the YES category.

The doctor came back, red it, and did some probably unimportant things on the computer.

"So, Louis (more like Lewis), it seems that you have a severe case of depression.  We would like to prescribe you some antidepressants to help control your feelings, and it's up to you, but I suggest you start seeing a counselor," the doctor told me.

"I'd rather not," I scoffed.

"Louis, the pills are supposed to help you. Do you have any one here with you?" He asked, "Also, have you been eating lately? You are extremely underweight and it's getting to a very serious point."

And the award for the person who can't notice shit goes to...

Mr. Dumbass over here.

"Yeah, a friend. Why?" I asked, but he just ignored my question.

"Are you able to tell him or her to come in here please?" He asked.

I grumbled, but obliged.