"I need to see Liam in my office", Paul announced over the speaker. I glance up from my book and look across the room for Harry. What had he blamed me for this time? My book was getting so good. "Oh, Harry's going to get it", I thought as I trudged down the hall to Paul's office. I lightly tapped on the door, and I heard someone say "come in." When I opened the door, all of the Modest! management was crowded around Paul's desk. I took a seat next to the window. The last time I was here was about a month ago. Harry had blamed me for walking around in a Batman suit and messing with the paparazzi. That was one of Paul's many rules; no fooling around with paparazzi. I had gotten my TV privileges taken away, not that I watch that much TV anyways. Harry had made it up to me by catering to my every need until my punishment was over. Now, here I was, about to take the blame for Harry again. He was going to pay this time. Part of me is annoyed that management gets to tell us what to do, and who to do it with. I'm an adult, I can take care of myself. I also understand it, because we get so much freedom as celebrities. We are still children at heart, and we need boundaries. That's the only reason I've stayed with Modest!. That, and I love being around my best friends everyday. Even though I do get blamed for a lot of their shenanigans.
"Liam, we have something we need to discuss with you", Paul says, sounding nervous. "Uh oh, here it comes", I thought.
"It's time you see a psychiatrist about your spoon phobia", he says. Instantly, I looked up. This is not what I was expecting. Why do they suddenly think I need a psychiatrist? That won't even help my case. Who do they think they are, telling me what to do?
"We just want to help you, that's all. We know something tragic must have happened for you to have this fear, and we just want what's best for you, okay Li? We've already scheduled an appointment with Dr. Smit at 3pm tomorrow. Here's the address." Paul handed me a small white card that said "Dr. Smit: I can help." That isn't even clever. On the back, was an address and a phone number. Who does this guy think he is? I don't need someone else telling me what's wrong with me. I already know why I'm afraid of spoons. Even if I tried to convince management, it wouldn't work. They've made up their mind. When they see that a psychiatrist won't help, perhaps they'll let me stop going. Until then, I have an appointment with Dr. Smit at 3pm tomorrow whether I like it or not.
'Maybe this could help you", Niall said when I told the guys about my confrontation with management.
"Yeah, then maybe you can eat soup again with the rest of us", Louis joked.
"This is serious", I said. "I don't want management telling us how to live our lives. A psychiatrist isn't going to help me. They think he can figure out why I have this fear, but I already know why!"
"Why are you afraid of spoons", asked Harry.
I turned away. I didn't want to explain to them. They wouldn't understand how tragic it was for me. Instead, I said "none of your business" and walked back to my room to mope until 3pm tomorrow.