Together (Larry Stylinson) ✅

Improving

Harry's POV

Two weeks went by without hearing whether or not Lou was okay. Two whole weeks. But even when I found out, it wasn't from him. It was from Fizzy, his sister. She texted me over Facebook messenger:

"Hey, Harry. Sorry Lou has taken so long to get back to you. He just started treatment last week and things have been hectic. He's been doing okay so far, though there's lots to adjust to still. They don't have access to electronics, but if you send me your # I can have him call you during his free hour. He said he misses you and loves you. Thanks for taking care of him these past few weeks."

I felt my face grow red and warm as I read the message. These past two weeks had been full of anxiety. I could hardly sit at my desk at work without constantly checking my phone to see if he had called or texted. Eventually I started switching my phone off because I was going so insane checking.

Finally, thank god, Fizzy had at least given me a semblance of peace. Louis was okay. He was safe. And there all I wanted to hear.

Though, deep down I knew he wasn't entirely safe in the full meaning of the word. He probably wouldn't be for a while, at least not until he started putting some serious weight on. Right now he was just so sick, so weak. So fragile.

I quickly texted Fizzy back with a thank you message and sent along my phone number, hoping to hear from Lou soon, though I knew it would probably be quite a while before he'd be able to call me.

Then, I left headed out of my flat, locking my door behind me as I headed off to my appointment.

The subway was packed, but it was a Saturday afternoon, and that's what you can expect in New York on the weekends. I wedged myself into an empty seat, my long leggings coming up to my chest as I tried to fit into the narrow space between two other passengers. I much preferred leg room, but there wasn't much of it in this city.

When I finally got out of the subway, I took a deep breath of fresh air, expelling the musty subway toxins from my lungs. Then I headed down the street and entered a tall brown building. 212 East 52nd.

"Harry, it's been a while," Karen said with a smile. My therapist was about 40 with short brown hair and thin lips, always painted a pale pink color.

"It has been. Good to see you," I said taking a seat in the soft armchair across from her. I was feeling a bit nervous. Therapy was never my strong suit. At my sickest, I refused to open up to Karen about anything at all. Over time, I became less resistant and began to share more. But sometimes I wondered if I was sharing too much...

"So how are you? what brings you back to New York?" She asked, crossing her legs. I nodded and swallowed before starting my story. It was a lot for me to process.

"I'm doing okay, thanks. Job placement. I'm doing a 6 month training stint out here. But I actually reconnected with Louis...." I began, deciding to just fuck it and share everything at once before I could regret it. "He's, um. Not well. His mum died last year... we didn't talk for two years after we broke up. So I didn't know. And he's, well, he's anorexic."

The word felt unnatural on my tongue, like I shouldn't be saying it. It never did feel okay to say. It was such a serious word — such a depressing word. I never liked using it, or even hearing it. Especially when I was sick.

Karen nodded with wide eyes, jotting something down in her notebook.

"He asked me to meet up to see if I could help with a business deal that would save his job. Only that and nothing more. Wanted nothing to do with me. And I did it, but he got fired anyways. He got really drunk and when I called him, I could tell it was bad... so I went over. Just to check on him. He was throwing up everywhere. I called the ambulance and I spent almost all my time with him for the next week in the hospital. He had damaged his esophagus... it was bad..." I tears now, and reached for a tissue. I was a little ashamed, but I didn't care. I cried in this office before over less serious things.

"He still didn't want me around him. Because he said I hurt him too much and he couldn't trust me. Eventually he went home. And then my friend Niall said to tell him how i felt. So i asked him to coffee, and i told him. And i apologized for everything, even though I can't really make up for what I did. I told him I loved him," I continued, my voice cracking a bit. "He said we could be friends, nothing more. Invited me back over. And he came onto me hard. We had sex — he initiated. Said I love you after."

My heart started to hurt as I reinvisioned the memories, as I thought about the way Lou had looked at me with those big blue eyes as he told me he loved me for the first time in two years. About how I held him on my chest like i had never left. About how no matter what — no matter how sick he was — he would always be the most beautiful thing in the world to me.

"I, um... yeah. But shortly after we fought. Over food. He wanted to purge and I tried to stop him and he bit me. Told me to leave. It was bad... but i didn't leave. I stayed with him, held him while he slept. He's just so sick — worse than I used to be, I swear to it. So gone,"  I was audibly crying now, taking in deep sharp breaths as I buried my face in my hands. It hurt to think about Louis this way. It made me so incredibly sad, so incredibly scared.

He was dying. My best friend, the love of my life, right before my eyes.

"I'm sorry..." I choked. My therapist shook her head, shooting me an empathetic look. "It's okay," she said in a concerned tone. "Take your time."

"I... yeah. He got the idea to go to England. To see his sisters and do treatment. He's there now. I just got a text today saying he's okay... I just... I miss him. I just got him back, but now he's gone.... and i know it's selfish. I know he has to get better, and that's all I want. But I want to be with him...." I continued, my stomach knotting as I realized how guilty and conflicted I felt.

"Thats understandable that you miss him. And so how are you holding up and dealing with all this Harry?" Karen asked, finally interjecting.

"I.... not well. Eating Is getting harder. I've gained weight and it's driving me crazy — all I want to do is lose it.... I nearly purged last night until my mate stopped me. I'm falling back off the wagon...." I said between sniffles. As I said mentioned my weight gain, the voice in my head shouted in anger: "of course you have to lose it you fat fuck!"

"I see. Well, that doesn't sound healthy Harry. There are healthy coping strategies and we can go over those and you can use them to get through this stressful time," Karen said slowly, clicking her pen. "But I'd like to know why you have a scale? And how Louis' anorexia is affecting you — are you triggered?"

I blushed. I knew I shouldn't have a scale. Even after all this time, it would always be dangerous. "I hardly use it. But yeah I should through it out," I said, looking at my shoes. "But.... it is triggering. A little. I will admit that. It's hard to look at him and not want that again — I never ever ever want to be sick again, but part of me craves being so small...."

Karen nodded. "That's Not good. It sounds like this break might be a good thing for you too. It'll give you time to readjust and focus on your own body image and eating. When he comes back, you'll be stronger and ready to tackle the relationship," She said. She was always one for optimism. I wish the world actually worked the way she explained things to me.

"I... yeah. I guess," I said, sighing.

"Harry, you do want to fix this don't you? You're at high risk for a relapse. Let's tackle this before it gets that bad," she said sternly. I wrinkled my brow, annoyed by her assertiveness.

But she was right.

"I know," I said, picking at my nails. "Let's Not let it get that bad. I want to be healthy for Lou."

"Great," Karen said. "Now lets go over some cognitive behavioral techniques..."