Louis Tomlinson spent two long years recovering from the most traumatizing night of his life. But when he receives something from the person responsible for his terror, he’s afraid not only for his life- but for his heart.
WARNING includes smut, rape, murder, and other dark matters that may be disturbing
Waking up and not knowing instantly where he was was becoming a normal thing for Louis, so when he rolled onto his side and blinked awake, noticing he was still on the couch after much confusion, he just groaned. He sent a long glance up at the wall clock that read 7 am and glanced down at the rest of his body which was covered in a blanket and pressed up against something impeccably warm.
That was when last night slapped him in the face and he stiffened, as though he were trying to decide on whether it had all been an elaborate dream, but when he glanced over his shoulder to see Harry Styles was the impeccably warm ‘something’ he nearly lost it.
He was nestled right up against him on the already narrow couch, and although the boy was still sound asleep with little snores echoing from his open mouth, he felt unnerved.
He thought momentarily on the memory session that had proved effective but fatal in emotional stability.
And then he remembered those final words that had left him in a swimming awe for at least two hours before he passed out in an upright position with Harry still asleep in his lap.
Just the thought of those words coming from the boy with his lanky arms wrapped around his waist now were enough to make his toes curl and stomach to knot. The flat was silent besides the distant and steady tick of the clock, the hum of the fridge, and Harry’s sweet snoring in his ear.
Terming anything coming from the boy swaddling him ‘sweet’ seemed wrong and foreign. After everything they’d been through- he stiffly wondered exactly why he had taken Harry in. He was a massive burden, and just thinking about it again made him wonder how long exactly he could keep this up. How long would Harry live under his roof and continually and emotionally confuse him.
Yet something about the thought of Harry not being here with him unnerved him even more than having him here.
It made him sick to his stomach to think he was actually, and almost dependent on someone who could have potentially robbed 7 plus people and children of their lives.
And how easily accessed he was to Louis’ pulse in such ‘innocent’ moments such as these.
He again thought of that fateful night, and found himself touching back those 2 years more and more.
Harry had plenty of motive to kill Louis (with him being the only person he had ‘truthfully’ abided his ‘guiltyness’ in), yet he hadn’t.
Because he loves you.
His subconscious snarkily reminds him and again his stomach twists. As ‘unsimple’ as a thing that was, it seemed pale in comparison to the fact that perhaps there was, quite obviously, a whole mantra of memories and lies plaguing Harry of his true past, and everyone of the true closure they had been robbed of all of these years.
Louis glanced up at the clock again, letting out a little groan when he realized he had been laying here in Harry’s arms, thinking, for 45 minutes.
The boy stirred behind him, letting out a little breathy groan, and Louis instantly tensed for an unknown reason.
“Goodmornin-” Louis whispered, before being abruptly cut off by a loud guffaw of horror.
He was shoved onto the floor with a loud thud, and instantly fear ran through his veins. He glanced up at Harry, who was now rod straight and seething, confusion causing his eyes to have a glassy appearance.
“Who the fuck are you?” He roared, leering down quickly and hauling the man up by the collar of his shirt. Louis recoiled in confusion as well, his eyebrows knitting and mouth hanging wide open.
“W-what are you talking about, Harry? It’s me, Louis.” He babbled quickly, his voice taking on a panicked octave as Harry stood and took him along.
Harry shook his head over and over, momentarily releasing his shirt, “I don’t fucking know you, where the fuck am I?”
It occurred to Louis that Harry, after last night’s emotional overload, had lapsed in memory, and he screamed just that at him desperately as he skittered away, being tailed after in the boy’s blind, confused rage.
He didn’t listen.
Louis was slammed up against the wall, Harry looming over him, fuming and pupils blown out, “How did I get here?” He tightened his grip, pushing him up further against the wall.
“H-Harry,” he stuttered pathetically, “Listen to me, you’re having a-a lapse in memory. I’m your psychiatrist, you’re at my house-“
“You’re lying!” He screamed back, his face lingering incredibly close to Louis’. “Where’s my mother?”
Louis’ heart sank, and a little squeak erupted from him as Harry’s hands wrapped around his neck, “Harry,” he wheezed, squirming against his grip, “Please, shh baby.” He cooed, a dazed expression passed the boy’s face, and the scowl on his face fell for a moment, before being regained in fervor and he tightened his grip on his neck.
In this moment, one of Louis’ free hands flailed out to the side to take a hold of the metal vase and swinging it into the back of Harry’s skull.
The metallic clang rang about the hall, and Harry’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as his knees gave out and he collapsed to the floor.
Louis gasped for breath as silence surrounded them, and he stared down at the boy in a heap before him.
For a terrifying moment, he thought he had killed him, and his heart leapt into his throat. But on further inspection, his pulse was sluggishly chugging away- just unconscious- and would most likely be that way for a while.
So Louis mentally patted himself on the back for his quick thinking, and for the fact he had been working out, because even though Harry was as spindly as a bean pole, he weighed a lot. He drug him into his bedroom, grunting as he hauled him up onto the bed, and placing his head on a pillow, kissing his forehead.
He decided that locking him in his room would be the best decision, and did just that, leaning back on it with a sigh, closing his eyes and idly rubbing the back of his neck, which was sore already.
He stood there for sometime, not thinking about anything in particular, just reveling in the momentary peace.
It was this ‘not thinking about anything in particular’ that had Miranda Smith’s name show up in his thought train.
His eyes opened reflexively, and he shuffled back to the couch, sitting and pulling up his laptop, tentatively opening up a new tab. He held his breath as he searched ‘Miranda Smith, Therapist, London.’
He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but sure enough, 3rd link down was a hit. He clicked on it, and was greeted with a webpage with overly soothing Enya music on autoplay and deep brown page interior. A picture of what he assumed was her was at the top left corner. Louis didn’t deny that she was in-fact beautiful, adorned in pale blonde hair that made her already colorless skin look near corpse like. She had a cynical smile, and dark brown eyes that were heavily lidded in a look of superiority.
Unnerved by just her picture, Louis clicked on her biography, reading slowly- as though if he rushed through it he would miss something.
The whole page was filled with overly used adjectives about her aid to stability, and how her facility was the most ‘family oriented’ in London. She had apparently been a therapist for 14 years.
As legitimate as she seemed, Louis kept thinking about what Harry had sobbed to him the night before, and stiffened just at the thought.
He glanced back up at her photo, which was paired with a mobile number and an address. He took a deep breath, rereading the address until he pinpointed exactly why he already knew it.
Her office was in the building he interned at 6 years ago.
Chills ran up his spine and he glanced back up at the time, seeing as it was only 8.
On a rather simple impulse, he stood up and closed his laptop, striding to the front door and pulling on his coat and leather loafers. He knew leaving Harry here alone and disoriented wasn’t the best of plans, but he had to leave while he had the chance. So there were no questions as to where he was going when he stepped out onto the icy porch.
It didn’t take much thought to remember how to get to Miranda’s office, considering he drove to the building every day for a year. When he parked at the back of the massive lot, an unwelcome bout of painful nostalgia from his days here greeted him. Except, it wasn’t really nostalgia, just annoying little memories of early morning coffee runs for his boss and greeting frazzled patients at the door.
The building was four stories, and all four were rented out and divided four different ways to different medical firms, ranging from physical therapy to clinical psychiatry.
The full fledged memories hadn’t hit the man until he walked through the entrance and was greeted by distasteful green wallpaper and stuffy gray carpet. A woman sat behind her desk, staring idly at her phone until Louis cleared his throat.
She smiled through her flushing cheeks and pushed her ashy hair behind her ear, “Sorry,” she ducked her head, “Can I help you?”
He sauntered up to the desk, leaning his forearms on it and sighing with distaste as he looked around around the reception room. “May I speak with Dr. Smith?”
She tutted out gently, “You mean Dr. Sutherland?” she smiled bashfully, “She just got married last month, I guess we haven’t updated her website quite yet.”
“Oh, well, Dr. Sutherland. May I see her?” He didn’t refrain from hiding the annoyance in his voice.
The receptionist gave a disdain smile, “She’s with a patient at the moment, do you have an appointment?”
Louis rolled his eyes, appointments were such a hassle- but perhaps he was out of touch with that line of work- he was used to his patients coming to him on a regular schedule or when they needed to. “No, but it’s a rather important matter.”
She gave a tight smile, “Well you can make an appointment for next week-” She was interrupted by the door just down the hall opening and a tall man with hunched shoulders lumbering out followed by no other than Miranda herself.
She was rattling off instructions to the man who was obviously not listening, his eyes were down cast accompanied by heavy bags under them and muscles in his jaw twitching as a sign of agitation.
Her voice itself was low, and trim, and certainly unnerving to some degree- like that one teacher you had when you were young that would reprimand you all the time and you grew to hate the sound of her voice.
Louis already grew a firm distaste for her, and when her dark eyes turned to him, she gave him an unbearably fake smile, “Good morning, are you Jake Urban?”
Louis’ brows furrowed, “Uh.. no,” he cleared his throat, “I’m Dr. Tomlinson from Violet Quarters, I was wondering if I could speak with you for a moment?”
At the mention of Violet Quarters, one of her brows instantly pricked up in interest, and she glanced back at the receptionist. “Has Jake checked in yet?” She questioned rather coolly.
The girl glanced at the roster on the desk, shaking her head in the negative after a moment, “No ma’am. He’s scheduled for 10.”
Miranda primly smiled before turning on her heel, “Come and speak with me then, Dr. Tomlinson.”
Louis obeyed, although the woman seemed too overbearing to him and the perfume she wore was so strong she left a trail of citrus peach behind her.
In her office, Louis sat on a very obviously worn couch. The room itself was quite small as he remembered most of them to be. Its walls were a stone gray and the only other thing in the room besides the couch was another chair and a crisp looking peace lily.
Miranda sat in her chair, crossing her legs and folding her hands onto her knees in a very proper position. “So you’re from Violet Quarters?” She grinned wolfishly, her eyebrows piquing.
Louis only nodded, glancing about the room for any apparent signs that this woman was actually Harry’s old therapist. It was too far a shot that she wasn’t- what were the chances he would say a random name and her happen to be a therapist in London?
The room was significantly smoke free, so he let out a long exhale and shifted in his seat. “Have you always worked from here?” He inquired suddenly.
She didn’t seemed phased by the question, “No, I had my patients come to my home for quite some time. I’ve rented out this place for about four years now.”
Louis absently nodded, inhaling deeply. “Dr. Sutherland, I’m here to talk about one of your prior patients. You’ve most likely heard about him since you treated him quite a few years back, his name is Harry Styles.”
At the name, the woman’s face flashed an emotion that was too quickly gone for Louis to decipher. Her lips twitched up into a confused and almost rueful smile, “Oh yes, I remember Harry. Found guilty of all those murders and rapes 2 years ago,” she tutted, “Not surprising really.”
He leaned forward at her comment, smoothing the pants of his legs down in apprehension, “Not surprising? Why so?” He cleared his throat, “And excuse me, I’m looking further into his case, as he is residing with me and is extremely disturbed.”
She smiled disdainfully, glancing down at her hands, “Well Doctor Patient confidentially limits what I can tell you, Dr. Tomlinson,” she chirped almost condescendingly, “You should know that.”
Louis didn’t say anything, just inwardly rolled his eyes; obviously he knew this.
She sighed, “But yes, Harry was a very… troubled child. His father brought him to me after his mother… passed away. Very violent… he became very violent and was beginning to repress memories of his past that were greatly effecting his everyday life.” She shook her head, “We performed many treatments on him to try and open up those closed off parts of his memories.”
“Treatments?” He inquired carefully, feeling sick to his stomach for some reason, “Of what sort?”
She smiled wickedly, “Well, many doctors frown on it because of well… how effectively it works,” she rolled her eyes, “Thiopental Sodium is a creation from God.”
Louis couldn’t help but recoil. Thiopental Sodium, also commonly known as truth serum was extremely controversial in psychotherapy. He personally didn’t like the drug because it unrestricted the patient, forced it out of them in a lucid state.
But Miranda was grinning like a cat, and Louis didn’t realize that the mood of the room had swung to something very dark. “Oh.” was all he could muster out. He laughed nervously.
“He became quite distant after the 3rd year he came to me and was in a daze the whole time.”
Maybe because you had him on sedatives all the time.
Louis suppressed a scoff. “Well, Dr. Sutherland,” he glanced down at his watch, not even reading the time, all he wanted was an excuse to leave, “I must get going. Thank you for the information. It’s helped quite a bit.” He nodded, standing from the couch, followed quickly by Miranda, who extended her hand curtly.
“Come by anytime Dr. Tomlinson. Maybe shoot me a referral at Violet Quarters.” She laughed loudly, as though she were joking, but Louis could easily tell she wasn’t. He shook her hand though, which was rougher and colder than he would’ve expected.
He nodded again, turning on his heel for the door, when he stopped in his tracks. “One last question,” he turned to look back at her, “do you smoke?”
Her brows furrowed and she let out a suppressed snicker, “What an odd question,” she shook her head, “no, never have, never will. How do you think I afford to have such a beautiful smile?” To prove it, she flashed a blindingly white smile, and Louis very slowly nodded.
“Well thank you again, Dr. Sutherland.” He turned for the door and quickly powered out onto the sidewalk holding his breath.
Louis shouldn’t be questioning her, shouldn’t be suspicious of something that his psycho roommate was blubbering to him. But there was something in the back of his mind that just nagged at him, and what it was, was not clear to him at all.