Trapped

The Reality of Larry Stylinson.

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4. Chapter 4

 *Doctors Office*

Louis POV

 

"You are very lucky Mr. Styles." The doctor entered the room and sat at his computer. 

"I am?" He furrowed his eyebrows.

"He is?" I repeated.

"Your hand; it's not broken, or fractured." The doctor said, pointing at the x-ray on the computer screen. "You only have a sprained wrist."

Harry sighed in relief, leaning his head on the wall behind us.

"And you said you punched a wall?" 

"Long story." Harry shrugged and looked away. He seemed a bit embarrassed.

"Well if you'll follow me, we'll wrap your wrist up and see how that goes."

We followed him down another identical hall and into another unfamiliar room. Harry sat on the patient's bed and I took a seat on the chair nearby. A nurse walked in behind the doctor, holding all of the medical stuff.

"Okay, if you'll just hold your hand out like this." The doctor modeled his hand for Harry. Harry did what he was told and took a deep breath. 

"Hey, we wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you." I reminded him. He shook his head while a small smile crept up on his face.

The doctor padded the area on his palm, all the way down to his wrist and wrapped it up quite thick. Almost looked painful. 

"Try to stay away from away from punching walls for a while okay?" The doctor laughed loudly at his own sarcasm. 

"Deal." Harry stood up, ready to get out of here. I'll admit, I was ready too.

"Thanks again Doc." I smiled, holding my hand out. 

"No problem." He shook my hand. 

I followed Harry out to the main entrance, only to meet some screaming fans and shouting paparazzi. It was kind of weird. Lately, we haven't seen this many fans. Luckily the police were there, holding everyone back. I felt sorta bad for ruining such a peaceful environment. At least in this part of the hospital. I smiled politely and waved guiding Harry back down the hall where we just were. He hid his hand in his jacket to avoid any questioning. But seeing how many people were there, I doubt someone missed it. 

Finally, we got out the back and into the car. I pulled out and took a shortcut home. Harry sat silently, observing his injured hand.

I reminded myself of my new rule: Harry wasn't allowed home alone anymore.

"How about we meet up with the boys again tomorrow?" I suggested, interrupting the awkward quietness. He said nothing. "I know they want to talk to you." 

Silence. 

"Harry, is something on your mind? Or bothering you?" I wondered. 

"No." He lied.

"Harry you can tell me anything." I shrugged, hoping he would. 

He turned his head and watched me. I could tell he was thinking about something. Hopefully it was about telling me.

"Louis."

"Yes?" I quick glanced at him and then back on the road. 

"How do you do it?"

"Do what?" I smirked. Hopefully this wasn't another one of his stupid questions.

"Avoid all the hate."

I paused for a moment to think about it. "Harry, I can't avoid it. No one can. You just have to learn to ignore it and enjoy the good things in life. It's all fake. Trust me."

"What if they're right? Do I even deserve to be in One Direction?" He turned back to the window again. 

I grabbed the wheel and jerked the car straight over to the curb. The tires squealed and left a mark on the road. I practically gave him a heart attack.

"Harry Styles, listen to me. You deserve to be in this band just as much as Zayn, Liam, Niall or I." I twisted in my seat to face him. "You are everything to me. You mean everything to our fans. Our real fans. You are a brother to Liam, Niall, and Zayn. You are an official part of One Direction."

He bit his lip but said nothing. I was afraid I was being too harsh. He looked more worried than hurt.  I paused and stared at him. Although, I didn't stare for very long. I turned back in my seat and drove the car back into the lane. But a part of me still wanted to make it all better and tell him everything would turn out fine. Of course, this was the soft side of me that seemed to sneak up at random times. And I had no control over how everything would turn out. I just wanted him to know how I really felt. In my mind, I tried to remember what he looked like only moments ago. His eyes were full of grief and sorrow. His lips looked plush and pink. I let it go and moved on from the topic in my mind. 

 

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