In My Veins - Chapter 2
pairing: arry/Louis
rating: ature
summary: arry Styles is an arrogant pop star who has fallen into a black hole of drugs and self-loathing. Dr. Louis Tomlinson is hired to fix the unfixable; but not if Harry has any say in it. Coauthored wit onedirection5 she writes even numbered chapters, I write odd).
This chapter written by Shea.
Dr. Louis Tomlinson To Take On Singer Harry Styles As His Newest Client.
After his latest and greatest success with helping intervene in the recent Lindsey Lohan alcohol/drug binge, Dr. Louis Tomlinson is now set to face the greatest challenge of his therapeutic career: Harry Styles, the drug-obsessed, sex-crazed, party-hard, drunken 19 year-old singer and X-Factor winner of 2010. After Styles’ recent near-death experience with overdose, Management of the young singer has decided to place him in the hands of the new-to-the-scene, 22 year-old therapist. After shooting up (no pun intended) to the top of the “psychology ladder” in Oxford, Tomlinson graduated early and only just last year received his PhD, yet he has already become a well-known face throughout the entire London and Manchester area. His no-nonsense attitude and deep capacity for understanding have been the definitive characteristics of his early career. Tomlinson, although young, has already handled many high-end cases and Styles is just the newest addition to his long list of clients - all of which have clearly displayed his success rate through their sobriety and adherence to his guidelines, as well as through their ability to stay under the radar and out of the tabloids - unlike a certain curly-haired singer. Harry Styles has spiraled out of control with his constant nightly outings with scantily-clad women, his furious tirades, his not-so-subtle affluence towards injecting foreign substances into his system, and his open display of disregard for any sense of acknowledging moral, public behavior. It’s hard to believe that the teen could have possibly come up with the heart-wrenching lyrics to “Two Hearts, One Soul” or the upbeat tune of “What Makes You Beautiful.” While the singer is resting and recovering in the hospital, it has been reported that later on this week Dr. Tomlinson himself will pay a visit to the teenager. It’s time for the doctor to meet his most challenging patient yet. It’s Harry Styles’ last chance and Louis Tomlinson’s biggest.
The squeaky opening of the hospital door disrupted Harry Styles from his nightmare and he angrily prepared to unleash his annoyance at the disturbance, when he came face to face with possibly the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. Kinda unnerving, actually. The intensity of that clear-blue, penetrating, stare. He quickly snapped out of his reverie and indignantly protested the interruption.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, fucking walking in my room and disturbing me from my fucking awesome, fucked-up thoughts? Get the fuck out, before I call security.”
“Shut the fuck up, you cocky prick,” was the resounding reply that he got to his rant. The clear blue eyes remained steadily focused on his clouded, once emerald-green, ones.
Harry’s jaw gaped open at such a display of defiance. Never had he had someone so calmly face his harsh words and shove them right back at him. To say he was pissed would be an understatement. To say he was shocked would be too mild.
“To answer your first question, I’m Louis Tomlinson, and I’m your new therapist. Now, Harold Edward Styles, unless you wanna head right on back to your old life of working monotonously in a bakery in a little town where no one knows your name and you have no money and no future, then you better shut the hell up and listen to what I have to say.”
“From now until as long as your suspension from Syco lasts, you’re stuck with me. That means for 2 hours a day, 3 times a week, you get to see my wonderful face. It also means no drugs, no alcohol, and no sluts. Don’t roll your eyes, Harry. Do you really think a 32 year-old woman is interested in you for your sweet-as-sugar personality? No. Now, we are going to have a really tough time ahead of us if you don’t do exactly as I say. You’re the joke of the music industry at the moment. Do you realize that? How could you embarrass Simon, who put all his faith and energy into supporting you? So, cut the cocky bastard crap, follow my guidelines, and I’m sure we’ll be able to enjoy the roller coaster that is life together.”
“FUCKING HELL. YOU THINK I’M GOING TO LISTEN TO SOME YOUNG HOTSHOT THERAPIST WHO’S ONLY AT THE TOP BECAUSE HE FUCKED LINDSAY LOHAN INTO FOLLOWING HIS GUIDELINES? DON’T EVEN FOR ONE FUCKING SECOND THINK I’M GOING TO LISTEN TO WHAT YOU HAVE TO SAY...LET ALONE LET YOU FUCK ME. YOU’VE GOT SOME NERV...”
*beep*
Harry’s words were cut off by the sound of Louis pressing the call button for the nurse. “...you wouldn’t...” Harry nervously warned.
“At a loss for words there, Styles? Cat got your tongue? Or should I say pussy?” Louis smirked, realizing he had finally gained the upper hand.
The silence in the room was disturbed by the nurse’s entry into the vicinity. “Yes, sir?”
“The patient seems to have overexerted himself enough for one day. We don’t want him to damage his vocal chords any more than he has already done himself. I think a nice, long nap would be perfect for Harry here.”
The nurse injects some sleeping medicine into Harry’s IV and leaves the room. Harry looks at Louis with newfound respect for his opponent and, before his sleepy eyes droop closed, Louis hears him mutter, “...bastard...”
~
1 Week Later
“Oww! Get your hands off me, you prick!”
Louis hears a muffled curse and then suddenly his office door is shoved open, a thin and haunted body is thrust in, and the door is promptly slammed closed.
“Nice to see you all excited for our first session together, Harry. And you’re only forty five minutes late.”
Harry mutters a muffled retort and proceeds to slump onto the couch across from Louis’ desk, his endless torso and long legs jutting out awkwardly over the furniture.
Louis took a second to run an appreciative glance over Harry’s clean-shaven look. He tried to ignore the way his patient’s white tshirt fit perfectly to his sculpted torso, or the way his trousers settled dangerously low on the 19 year-old’s barely-there hips. Not to mention, the way his chocolate brown curls flopped perfectly, framing his currently pale and broken face. Hauntingly beautiful were the words that came to Dr. Tomlinson’s mind, regarding his newest client.
“Seen enough?” came the sneer from the most amazing and full lips Louis had ever seen. Too bad they talk too much shit, Louis remarked silently. He heaved a great sigh and turned his attention back to the arrogant prat in front of him.
“So, Harry, why do you think you’re here?” Louis began the session.
“Cos’ fucking Management forced me here. There’s nothing wrong with me. Everyone parties, everyone drinks, everyone does drugs, and everyone has sex. It’s called living. You wouldn’t know, being stuck here in this tiny office, with your tiny chair, and your boring job, and your boring clients...you’re lucky you got me. I’m hard to come by.”
“Yeah, Harry, you’re a regular dime a dozen,” Louis muttered sarcastically. “So, how long have you been “living” for? Cause, from what I recall, you used to be the sweet, fun-loving, charismatic, cheeky 17 year-old who was humbled by the fact that he was even able to make it on TV, let alone win all of X Factor.”
“Well, it happened about a year after I had won my singles and the Brits and all that shit that really amounts to nothing but emptiness. Drinking fills you up (literally), it gives you friends (even if their only temporary), and it helps you forget that you’re alone...Not that I care. I just drink cos’ it’s fun and it gets me, as you so kindly referred to them, sluts. I prefer to call them romantic one-night stands. Come on, doc, keep em’ coming. Gonna ask me bout my feelings next?”
“Well, Mr. Styles, seeing as how I’m pretty much aware of your feelings, especially after your little temper tantrum outside my door, I’ll just leave that one to the imagination. Unless, of course, you’d like to share.” Louis calmly responded.
“Yeah, I got a feeling. Of dislike. For you. I don’t like you.”
“And what is it that you don’t like about me?”
“You’re a stupid, smart-arse, prat who thinks he knows all about me.”
“Okay, Harry. But that’s not the real reason you don’t like me, is it?”
“...no...” came the quiet reply. “I don’t like you because you take my shit and throw it right back at me. You don’t care about my feelings, and you don’t kiss my ass. I guess I don’t like you because...you see right through me.”
“Now, we’re making progress. Great job, Harry.”
rating: ature
summary: arry Styles is an arrogant pop star who has fallen into a black hole of drugs and self-loathing. Dr. Louis Tomlinson is hired to fix the unfixable; but not if Harry has any say in it. Coauthored wit onedirection5 she writes even numbered chapters, I write odd).
This chapter written by Shea.
Dr. Louis Tomlinson To Take On Singer Harry Styles As His Newest Client.
After his latest and greatest success with helping intervene in the recent Lindsey Lohan alcohol/drug binge, Dr. Louis Tomlinson is now set to face the greatest challenge of his therapeutic career: Harry Styles, the drug-obsessed, sex-crazed, party-hard, drunken 19 year-old singer and X-Factor winner of 2010. After Styles’ recent near-death experience with overdose, Management of the young singer has decided to place him in the hands of the new-to-the-scene, 22 year-old therapist. After shooting up (no pun intended) to the top of the “psychology ladder” in Oxford, Tomlinson graduated early and only just last year received his PhD, yet he has already become a well-known face throughout the entire London and Manchester area. His no-nonsense attitude and deep capacity for understanding have been the definitive characteristics of his early career. Tomlinson, although young, has already handled many high-end cases and Styles is just the newest addition to his long list of clients - all of which have clearly displayed his success rate through their sobriety and adherence to his guidelines, as well as through their ability to stay under the radar and out of the tabloids - unlike a certain curly-haired singer. Harry Styles has spiraled out of control with his constant nightly outings with scantily-clad women, his furious tirades, his not-so-subtle affluence towards injecting foreign substances into his system, and his open display of disregard for any sense of acknowledging moral, public behavior. It’s hard to believe that the teen could have possibly come up with the heart-wrenching lyrics to “Two Hearts, One Soul” or the upbeat tune of “What Makes You Beautiful.” While the singer is resting and recovering in the hospital, it has been reported that later on this week Dr. Tomlinson himself will pay a visit to the teenager. It’s time for the doctor to meet his most challenging patient yet. It’s Harry Styles’ last chance and Louis Tomlinson’s biggest.
The squeaky opening of the hospital door disrupted Harry Styles from his nightmare and he angrily prepared to unleash his annoyance at the disturbance, when he came face to face with possibly the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. Kinda unnerving, actually. The intensity of that clear-blue, penetrating, stare. He quickly snapped out of his reverie and indignantly protested the interruption.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, fucking walking in my room and disturbing me from my fucking awesome, fucked-up thoughts? Get the fuck out, before I call security.”
“Shut the fuck up, you cocky prick,” was the resounding reply that he got to his rant. The clear blue eyes remained steadily focused on his clouded, once emerald-green, ones.
Harry’s jaw gaped open at such a display of defiance. Never had he had someone so calmly face his harsh words and shove them right back at him. To say he was pissed would be an understatement. To say he was shocked would be too mild.
“To answer your first question, I’m Louis Tomlinson, and I’m your new therapist. Now, Harold Edward Styles, unless you wanna head right on back to your old life of working monotonously in a bakery in a little town where no one knows your name and you have no money and no future, then you better shut the hell up and listen to what I have to say.”
“From now until as long as your suspension from Syco lasts, you’re stuck with me. That means for 2 hours a day, 3 times a week, you get to see my wonderful face. It also means no drugs, no alcohol, and no sluts. Don’t roll your eyes, Harry. Do you really think a 32 year-old woman is interested in you for your sweet-as-sugar personality? No. Now, we are going to have a really tough time ahead of us if you don’t do exactly as I say. You’re the joke of the music industry at the moment. Do you realize that? How could you embarrass Simon, who put all his faith and energy into supporting you? So, cut the cocky bastard crap, follow my guidelines, and I’m sure we’ll be able to enjoy the roller coaster that is life together.”
“FUCKING HELL. YOU THINK I’M GOING TO LISTEN TO SOME YOUNG HOTSHOT THERAPIST WHO’S ONLY AT THE TOP BECAUSE HE FUCKED LINDSAY LOHAN INTO FOLLOWING HIS GUIDELINES? DON’T EVEN FOR ONE FUCKING SECOND THINK I’M GOING TO LISTEN TO WHAT YOU HAVE TO SAY...LET ALONE LET YOU FUCK ME. YOU’VE GOT SOME NERV...”
*beep*
Harry’s words were cut off by the sound of Louis pressing the call button for the nurse. “...you wouldn’t...” Harry nervously warned.
“At a loss for words there, Styles? Cat got your tongue? Or should I say pussy?” Louis smirked, realizing he had finally gained the upper hand.
The silence in the room was disturbed by the nurse’s entry into the vicinity. “Yes, sir?”
“The patient seems to have overexerted himself enough for one day. We don’t want him to damage his vocal chords any more than he has already done himself. I think a nice, long nap would be perfect for Harry here.”
The nurse injects some sleeping medicine into Harry’s IV and leaves the room. Harry looks at Louis with newfound respect for his opponent and, before his sleepy eyes droop closed, Louis hears him mutter, “...bastard...”
~
1 Week Later
“Oww! Get your hands off me, you prick!”
Louis hears a muffled curse and then suddenly his office door is shoved open, a thin and haunted body is thrust in, and the door is promptly slammed closed.
“Nice to see you all excited for our first session together, Harry. And you’re only forty five minutes late.”
Harry mutters a muffled retort and proceeds to slump onto the couch across from Louis’ desk, his endless torso and long legs jutting out awkwardly over the furniture.
Louis took a second to run an appreciative glance over Harry’s clean-shaven look. He tried to ignore the way his patient’s white tshirt fit perfectly to his sculpted torso, or the way his trousers settled dangerously low on the 19 year-old’s barely-there hips. Not to mention, the way his chocolate brown curls flopped perfectly, framing his currently pale and broken face. Hauntingly beautiful were the words that came to Dr. Tomlinson’s mind, regarding his newest client.
“Seen enough?” came the sneer from the most amazing and full lips Louis had ever seen. Too bad they talk too much shit, Louis remarked silently. He heaved a great sigh and turned his attention back to the arrogant prat in front of him.
“So, Harry, why do you think you’re here?” Louis began the session.
“Cos’ fucking Management forced me here. There’s nothing wrong with me. Everyone parties, everyone drinks, everyone does drugs, and everyone has sex. It’s called living. You wouldn’t know, being stuck here in this tiny office, with your tiny chair, and your boring job, and your boring clients...you’re lucky you got me. I’m hard to come by.”
“Yeah, Harry, you’re a regular dime a dozen,” Louis muttered sarcastically. “So, how long have you been “living” for? Cause, from what I recall, you used to be the sweet, fun-loving, charismatic, cheeky 17 year-old who was humbled by the fact that he was even able to make it on TV, let alone win all of X Factor.”
“Well, it happened about a year after I had won my singles and the Brits and all that shit that really amounts to nothing but emptiness. Drinking fills you up (literally), it gives you friends (even if their only temporary), and it helps you forget that you’re alone...Not that I care. I just drink cos’ it’s fun and it gets me, as you so kindly referred to them, sluts. I prefer to call them romantic one-night stands. Come on, doc, keep em’ coming. Gonna ask me bout my feelings next?”
“Well, Mr. Styles, seeing as how I’m pretty much aware of your feelings, especially after your little temper tantrum outside my door, I’ll just leave that one to the imagination. Unless, of course, you’d like to share.” Louis calmly responded.
“Yeah, I got a feeling. Of dislike. For you. I don’t like you.”
“And what is it that you don’t like about me?”
“You’re a stupid, smart-arse, prat who thinks he knows all about me.”
“Okay, Harry. But that’s not the real reason you don’t like me, is it?”
“...no...” came the quiet reply. “I don’t like you because you take my shit and throw it right back at me. You don’t care about my feelings, and you don’t kiss my ass. I guess I don’t like you because...you see right through me.”
“Now, we’re making progress. Great job, Harry.”