Isabelle's P.O.V

“Are you nervous?” Harry asked me, his brow furrowing as he stared at the road in front of him. I clasped my hands together and held them in my lap, trying to get my legs to stop bouncing up and down.

“Yeah,” I admitted sheepishly, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. ‘Yeah’ was an understatement. I was actually freaking out. I was so afraid that once Harry and I had a full conversation with the therapist, he would realised how messed up I truly was, and I didn’t think that I could handle that.

“Don’t worry,” he said earnestly, reaching over and untangling my hands, taking my left in his right. I smiled gratefully at him, evil, depressing thoughts still nipping at me from the back of my mind. What if he decided that I was too much to handle? What if he eventually got tired of the fact that I couldn’t give him what he wanted?

“What’s the address?” I asked, changing the subject in hopes that it would calm me. Harry pursed his lips, looking like he wanted to press more on the topic, but he must’ve realised that I really didn’t want him to do that, because he said, “15 Heartley Drive.”

I nodded as we pulled into a small neighborhood filled with bungalows. I stared out the window, counting the house numbers. 9, 11, 13…

“We’re here,” Harry announced, pulling into the driveway of the therapist’s house and turning off the ignition of the car. He pulled out his keys and stuffed them inside the pockets of his skinny jeans. His boots hit the ground and I heard the driver’s door shut, and before I could get my bearings, he was on my side of the car, reaching for the handle. He opened it, smiling lightly at me.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I pointed out embarrassedly, blushing madly. He shrugged, “I know,” he said simply, “But I wanted to.” He shut the car door and rested his hand on the hood of the car behind me, leaning in for a kiss. I leaned back on the car and took his face in my hands, grinning when he bit my bottom lip lightly.

He pulled back afterwards, slightly out of breath and said, “We should go.” I smiled dryly at him, thinking, ‘No shit, Sherlock’. Nonetheless, I nodded, and he put his hand on the small of my back, guiding me towards the entrance of the house. His fingers splayed out on my back and I couldn’t help but to feel slightly protected.

We rang the doorbell and I bounced on the balls of my feet. A few moments later, the door opened, and I came face to face with Dr. Grey.

Her name truly described her. She wore gray slacks with professional gray shoes, a white top with a gray blazer pulled over. Her black hair was molded into a strict, intricate bun, streaked with gray. And even her eyes resembled the moon. They were a pale blue, so pale they looked…yes, you guessed it: gray. She looked to be around her fifties, and I immediately felt uncomfortable and intimidated. Harry’s hand subtly intertwined with my own, and it calmed my nerves slightly.

Dr. Grey smiled warmly at us, whom, I’ll admit: made me feel a little reassured. It was only her appearance that made her look like a strict nun from the forties. As soon as she smiled, her eyes lit up, and the edges crinkled, so I guessed that she smiled often. Good.

“You must be Harry and Isabelle,” she told us, moving aside and granting us entrance,

“Come in, come in.”

“It is erm, nice to meet you,” Harry said, clearing his throat. I almost laughed; he seemed so confident before, and watching him get all nervous and flustered was truly a sight. Dr. Grey just nodded empathetically as he held out his hand to shake it. “And I, you, Mr. Styles.”

“Call me Harry,” Harry smiled at her, and she returned it. “If I get to call you so, you can call me Helena,” she turned to me, “You both can.” I realised that I seemed rude, and I held out my hand, “Oh, sorry. I’m Isabelle.”

Dr. Grey—Helena—smiled at us again, something I gladly returned. So far, we were off to a great start. “So,” Helena clapped her hands, “Let’s get started. My office is just down the hall, and one of you can wait here, in the entrance, while I talk to the other.”

“We’re not going in together?” I asked, slightly shocked. Dr. Grey consoled me, “Of course you are dear. But that’s next time. First, I’ll talk to each of you separately, and then next week I’ll have you both in at the same time, alright?” I pursed my lips and nodded.

“So,” she announced, “Ladies first?” She gestured to me, and I nodded. As she turned away, I shot a helpless look at Harry. He chuckled, his hand still caressing mine, and pulled me to him, kissing my lips lightly, “Don’t worry,” he murmured consolingly, and added, “I love you.”

I smiled, feeling a little bit less nervous. Turning back to Dr. Grey, I noticed that she was smiling lightly, glancing at us over her shoulder, and I blushed. Even though Harry had kissed me plenty of times before, doing so in front of a couple’s therapist made me feel wary.

I didn’t know why though. After all, she was there to help us. I nodded once more before following her. She led me down the hall and we turned at the last door on the right, entering a quaint little office. There was a couch, a loveseat to be exact, facing a small desk, with a computer and papers and pens stacked neatly. My gaze flicked over to the drawers on the desk, each of them decorated with a lock, and I assumed that that was where she kept all of the files for her patients. This was confidential after all, wasn’t it?

“So Isabelle,” Dr. Grey took a seat in the chair behind her desk, and I sat down on the loveseat, “I think it would be best to tell you right away that everything you say in this room, to me, will not be heard by anyone else. I have signed a confidential agreement contract, which states that I cannot give away information to anyone.”

I nodded, feeling relieved. At least I knew that my information would not be shared with anyone but the therapist. “What about Harry?” I blurted out, and then mentally face-palmed.

A small smile tugged on the corners of the therapist’s mouth, “I will only share the information you want me to share with him. Although I assume that that would be everything?”

“Yes,” I said firmly. I was so done with all the lies and secrets in our relationship. I was tired of keeping things from him, and the other way around. Although lately, I’d noticed that I had been the one keeping secrets in this relationship.

“Okay,” Dr. Grey replied, “You will tell me if you don’t feel comfortable with me sharing something with Harry, correct?” I nodded again, and she smiled at me, reaching for a notepad and a pen on her desk. She uncapped the pen and held it above the notepad, positioned to write down anything.

“So,” she began, “Tell me about yourself.”

I knew this was coming. “Um, well, my name’s Isabelle Foster. I’m nineteen. My favourite colour is green. I have an older sister named Kate. I’m from Canada, and I’m a dancer. My mom died a few years ago, and ever since, I’ve self-harmed. I’m getting better though, and I haven’t done it in a year or so,” everything came rushing out, without a filter. I wasn’t thinking; all I knew was that I wanted to make this relationship with Harry work so badly, and I was willing to do anything.

The therapist scribbled all of the things that I’d just blurted down on her notepad. She looked up at me, and I admired the look she gave me. She didn’t look at me like I was a lost cause or a kicked puppy, but rather with a determination that almost told me: I’m going to help you. I was reassured.

“I see,” she said, “And is there anything else?”

“Um, well,” I cleared my throat, this being the only topic I was nervous about. Dr. Grey looked at me expectantly, “I was raped by my ex-boyfriend,” the words came out in a whisper. Dr. Grey swallowed lightly and nodded, looking down at the notepad and jotting that down too. She finally put the damn pad down and sat forward, her gray eyes boring into mine.

“I’m going to help you Isabelle,” she told me firmly, “I understand that you want to be able to perform sexually with Mr. Styles?”

Blush appeared on my cheeks as she said those words. I still didn’t feel comfortable with talking about my intimate moments with Harry. I nodded, swallowing, “Um, yeah. The whole—thing—with my ex-boyfriend kind of scared me. I just—I can’t do it.”

Dr. Grey nodded earnestly, “I understand.” She tapped her fingers on her mahogany desk lightly, “Why don’t we start from the beginning? Tell me about your ex-boyfriend.”

“His name was Cameron Matthews,” I said quietly, looking down at the ground while I explained, “We started dating in eleventh grade. In twelfth grade I caught him cheating on me, so I dumped him.” I was grateful that the therapist didn’t ask for details, because I wasn’t going to relive the painful heartbreak all over again, “I was really sad, but my friends decided that they would try to take my mind off of it. They brought me to a party. I stayed for a bit, but eventually I just got bored, so I told them that I was going to leave. The house that was hosting the party wasn’t far from my own, so I decided to walk. I was so stupid. I was walking alone, at night.”

I blinked once, trying to keep in the tears that were threatening to fall, “He grabbed me and pulled me into an alley, and gagged me, so that I couldn’t scream. I was trying to get out, but he pressed a gun against my back and told me that if I didn’t stop, he would shoot me. I don’t even know if the gun was loaded or not. I was so, so stupid. I should’ve made a break for it, but I didn’t, and I let him take advantage of me.”

“Was it your first time?” Dr. Grey asked softly. I nodded, rubbing my forehead with my fingertips lightly and wiping my eyes once before looking at her. “Did anyone know?” Dr. Grey asked. I shook my head, “No, nobody. Except my mom. She was the only one. I started cutting afterwards. She tried to get me to stop, but I begged her not to tell anyone, so she didn’t. She was diagnosed with cancer a few weeks after the incident, and when she died, I just felt as though my whole world had collapsed.”

I sniffled, aware that I was being so emotional right now. “I’m sorry,” I said, “I’m pathetic.”

“No,” Dr. Grey said, “No Isabelle, you’re not. You’ve gone through more than the average teenager has ever gone though. Take this at your own pace. You don’t need to tell me, you know.”

“I want to,” I said, nodding vigorously, “I want to though. I need…closure, I guess, and I want to be able to have sex with Harry. I love him so much.”

Dr. Grey nodded hesitantly, and I continued, “After my mom died, my cutting got worse. No one knew about what Cameron had done or the fact that I was cutting. My sister only knew that he’d cheated, and that was it. I went to a rehabilitation facility for a few months every day after school. My sister didn’t know about it, because she was here, in England. I told my father that I was staying after school every day, for a club, or a project, or a school dance. Although he was so absorbed in his depression after my mom passed that I really don’t think he cared anymore. I got better after. I didn’t cut anymore, and it lasted a year. Then I was invited to England for a year to visit Kate. And here I am now.”

“And here you are now,” Dr. Grey nodded, agreeing with me. I shook my head, “I’m sorry,” I said, “You probably think I’m some crazy cutter-freak now.”

Dr. Grey shook her head, “There is no such thing as a cutter-freak. People just have different ways of coping, that’s all. In fact, I hate that word. Cutter-freak. It is such a disgusting word, and it makes people feel so insecure. You have nothing to be ashamed about.”

Her words made me feel a bit better. I wiped at my eyes and she handed me a tissue, which I gladly took. I tried for a smile, but it came out as a grimace.

“Have you cut at all since then?” Dr. Grey asked. I knew this was coming. I nodded, “Once. A couple of nights ago.”

“Why?”
“Well,” I paused, trying to figure out how to best word this, “Because of Harry.” Dr. Grey looked at me, her eyes wide, “Did Mr. Styles do something?”

“No!” I said suddenly, realising what it looked like, “I mean, yes, he did, but it wasn’t something bad. He just…it was so sweet. He turned the lighting down and put on soft music, and sprinkled rose petals all around my room and he…” I trailed off. As I said before, I didn’t feel too alright with sharing my intimate thoughts with anyone but Harry.

“He told me he wanted to make love to me,” I whispered, and Dr. Grey nodded. She asked me a silent question with her eyes, and I elaborated, “And I said no. I couldn’t tell him about Cameron. Not yet anyways. And then I ran into the bathroom, and I was crying, and I was so confused, I just didn’t know what to do. So I cut. I was bleeding badly and Harry…well I don’t exactly remember, but he picked me up and bandaged my arms. He was very sweet.”

“And did you tell him about Cameron?” she asked. I nodded, “Yes. I was just tired of keeping it from him. When he understood, and realised that I couldn’t have sex with him, he asked me if I wanted him to schedule sessions, and I said yes.” I paused, realising that I made it sound like Harry only wanted me for my body, and hastened to make amends, “I mean, he didn’t just call because we couldn’t have sex. It wasn’t just him. We agreed on it together, thinking that it would help our relationship. Although I think we’re doing okay right now.”

Dr. Grey nodded, smiling, and I was finally able to return it. The tears in my eyes had subsided, and I felt as though I was making progress already. “I see,” the therapist said, lost in thought, “And tell me: what is it that you like about Harry?”

“Everything,” I said immediately, “I mean, I know that it sounds more like infatuation, but I really do love Harry. I’ve only known him for four weeks and a bit, but some people have sex the moment they meet, so that’s really the only thing consoling me here. It reminds me that compared to them, we’re not moving fast at all. I just love Harry so much. I love his eyes, his smile, his dimples, his hair, has hands, all of his tattoos, and his personality. I love it when he holds my hand, and kisses me, and gives me those cheeky grins. I love how much he constantly reminds me that I’m beautiful and that he loves me. I even love his temper, and his overprotectiveness, because I know that when he opposes me, it just shows that he cares about me. I love how he can make me smile and laugh for absolutely no reason at all; I love how he’s the last person I see at night and the first person I see in the morning. And I don’t really know what else to say except for I love him.”

I took a long, deep breath as I finished my excessive monologue. Dr. Grey nodded, jotting something else down on her notepad again. She hummed in response. I couldn’t help but to feel a bit disappointed. I wanted to get a reaction out of her. I wanted to know if it was right to have these feelings or not. I sighed, raking my fingers through my hair.

“Isabelle?” Dr. Grey asked timidly, “I don’t mean this in any disrespect at all. It’s just a question, okay?”

“Yeah,” I said unthinkingly. Dr. Grey stared at me before continuing, “Is it possible that maybe—just maybe, Mr. Styles could be your…what are you kids calling it these days? Your—ah—rebound?”

“No,” I said quickly, shaking my head forcefully, “Absolutely not. It’s been almost two years since the incident with Cameron happened. Harry is not my rebound.”

“Are you sure?” Dr. Grey questioned me, glancing at me suspiciously. I found myself getting slightly annoyed. How could this woman offer to help me, listen to my problems, ask me about Harry, my wonderful boyfriend, and then question if I really loved him? Maybe it was just me, but I didn’t think that was what therapists were supposed to do.

“Very well,” Dr. Grey sat back in her seat, her pen finding its way back into her hand, poised to write, “I will not question the subject anymore. We’ll leave it be for today. It’s been a half-hour already; I’m sure Mr. Styles is getting impatient out there.”

I glanced at the clock on the far wall. The counselor was right. We’d been in here for a little over thirty minutes. I bit my lip but nodded. “When’s the next session?” I asked hesitantly.

Dr. Grey leaned forward in her chair, “I would say: same time, same place, and next week. Do you think that you would be available for that?”

I nodded, not really knowing, but wanting to get the hell out of this office. Suddenly talking the therapist didn’t sound so appealing anymore, and I wanted to run out and sprint into Harry’s waiting arms, have him envelope me in an embrace, and whisper in my ear how much he loved me.

Don’t be stupid Isabelle. This therapist is trying to help you work out your fucking emotional problems so that you can have sex with Harry. Don’t ruin it. Fuck.

As much as I hated to admit it, I needed Dr. Grey’s help if I ever wanted intimate moments in my relationship with Harry. I simply smiled flakily at Dr. Grey and stood. She followed and opened the door for me, letting me step out.

“Would you be a dear and tell Mr. Styles that I’ll be waiting for him?” the counselor asked sweetly. I pursed my lips, nodding, and she returned it as I made my way down the hall. I heard the door shut quietly behind me.

I rounded the corner, and my gaze fell on a very nervous-looking Harry. He was sitting on a chair in the main entrance, his hands clasped tightly in his lap, his right knee bouncing up and down at a speedy pace. He alternated between pursing and biting his lips. At first, he didn’t notice me, and I took that as an opportunity to take him all in.

His hair was wrapped in a bandanna. It was camouflage and I immediately swooned. I thought that he only sported that look at his concerts, but I guess I was wrong. It made him look so fucking hot though. He had hung his jacket up, revealing a black t-shirt and black skinny jeans, his boots still adorning his feet. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the soft sigh that fell from my lips, or the fact that he just happened to turn around, but he saw me and immediately stood, rushing over to me, his arms extended. I mimicked him and we met in the middle. He enveloped me in a bone-crushing hug.

“How was it?” he whispered hurriedly, his lips on my forehead, “Are you okay? Did she say something to upset you? What happened?”

I cut off his questions by looking up into his eyes, “It was fine. I needed to get it all off my chest, and I did. She told me that I was completely normal, I wasn’t crazy, and I was fine.”

“You’re not crazy,” Harry murmured, leaning down and kissing my cheek, “You’re beautiful.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, and I leaned up to kiss him lightly, “I love you.”

“I love you more,” he growled against my lips, and his fingers dug into my waist lightly as he deepened the kiss slightly. I sighed against his mouth and blushed, while he just smirked. My hands found their way into his hair and I traced the camouflage headband.

“Are you sure?” I asked subconsciously. I wasn’t even aware of the question that had slipped out until Harry pulled back, his eyes widening.

“What?” he asked, looking awfully surprised, “What do you mean?” Shit. How was I supposed to explain my reason—no, no, my excuse—for that question? I chewed on my lip, opening my mouth to try and explain when Dr. Grey’s head peeked out from around the corner.

“Mr. Styles?” she questioned, “Your turn.”

She then seemed to acknowledge the way that our arms were wrapped around one another, “Oh,” she said blankly, “I’ll give you two a minute.” She disappeared round the corner again, leaving us alone.

Come back! I wanted to scream. Harry looked at me expectantly, waiting for an answer.

“Well?”

I tugged on the collar of his shirt, trying to stall, “Can we discuss this later? Please don’t keep her waiting.” His eyes blazed with determination for a moment before he backed down, pursing his lips. He sighed, raking his hands through his hair, slightly moving the headband. It looked even better than before now.

“Fine,” he breathed, and kissed my forehead once more before his arms left my waist. I immediately felt cold and suddenly wished that I’d just come clean and told him about it. God, I was such a damn hypocrite. Here I was, at these sessions, because I wanted us to be more open with each other, meanwhile I was slowly distancing myself and pulling away from him. I saw that he could sense it too, although there was no doubt in my mind that he would press the subject later. He almost always did.

I turned to watch the last trace of him vanish around the corner and into the hall, and heard soft mumbling before the sound of a door closing. Feeling disappointed in myself, I rubbed my forehead lightly before collapsing on the seat that Harry had been sitting on previously. Immediately, the faint scent of cinnamon wafted into my nostrils, and I buried my face in my hands, stressed.

Great.

Notes

I'm updating because I have over 100 votes! Thank you guys so much, it means a lot that you not only care to vote but also care to listen to my author's notes about my ridiculously pathetic life, so thanks!

Shoutouts go to:
@OkayItsMomo
@swedishfan
@Cece22

I feel so supported by everyone and I am just so happy right now. This story and all of its support is pretty much the only thing that's getting me through life in general right now, so thank you.

The next chappy will be in Harry's P.O.V and will spill a little something that he's been hiding from Isabelle. It's not big, just a little something. Thank you guys again!

~ILYSM~