Harry's POV

"There is nothing wrong with me," I mumbled as the car abruptly stopped outside a building that looked more like a kindergarten than a treatment centre.

The walls were painted a sickly yellow colour and there were a few murals of people holding hands together, and a huge sign stuck out from the building reading 'The Summerlea Rehabilitation and Treatment Centre For Young Adults'.

"You stink of alcohol right now and you want to tell me that you're completely fine. There's no getting out of this Harold, we're doing this for your own good," my father's voice was empty of any emotion and I could tell that no matter what I said, I would find myself inside the building in front of us.

Stepping out of the car, I grabbed the suitcase that my father had packed me and noticed how empty it felt without any bottles inside it. My mother was a weeping mess, constantly muttering incoherent things to herself and I tuned out of her crying when it began to annoy me. Taking a deep breath, I couldn't help but wish that I had taken a swig of vodka before I had left the house to give me some confidence.

"Walk in son, we need to sign you in," my father pointed towards the glass doors and I began to walk forward, my eyes staying firmly on the pavement in front of me.

My imagination ran wild as I imagined every possible outcome of staying at this 'rehabilitation centre'. I couldn't help but imagine myself surrounded by people with yellowing skin and needles sticking out of their arms. I wasn't like that. I wasn't an alcoholic, or at least I didn't think I was.

Shaking away these images, I pushed open the doors and was greeted by a woman who smiled too much. I was hit with the clinical smell of detergent and the hum of people talking inside the centre.

"Hello, how may I help you?" The woman asked and my parents began to hand her various paper documents.

She kept on smiling, almost as if nothing phased her and then faced me again.

"You must be Harold Styles. Say your goodbyes now and then I'll show you where you'll be staying for the next few months," she gestured over to my parents but I was too busy processing what she had just told me.

"You're sending me here for a few months? How could you?" I asked with a lump in my throat building up.

I had stupidly assumed that I would only need to be in rehab for a week at the most before being cured and allowed to go home. Suddenly the idea of staying at this centre became even more terrifying; I thought I would go mad if I had to stay in this clinical centre with women that smiled too much and lunatics.

"Please don't make me stay here," I cried out to my parents and I knew that if my mother was by herself she would allow me to go back to the car, but my father's stern face gave me all the information I needed.

I was going to stay at this clinic until I was cured of my supposedly severe alcoholism.

"Goodbye Harold, I hope you thrive here and that you rid yourself of your bad habits," my father shook my hand and I couldn't help but feel despondent by his lack of emotion.

My mother clung to me until my father unhooked her from me and she constantly whispered apologies into my ear. I watched them leave, drive away and I was left with the receptionist who unnerved me.

"Let me take you to your room!" The lady said in a high-pitched, nasally voice and I regrettably followed her through the corridor towards the accommodation.

As we walked to my room, she pointed out various things that I didn't pay attention to. There seemed to be constant noise around me, either the sounds of people talking or people screaming. I found myself clutching my bag tighter to my chest with every step.

"Ignore the screaming, some people here are schizophrenic and mentally disturbed," she shocked me with how blasé she was about the whole matter.

"I thought this was a rehab centre?" I asked with an eyebrow raised, wondering whether I had actually just been tricked into entering a psych ward.

"It is, but it also offers treatment for people with mental disorders, illnesses of the brain, all that sort of stuff. Ah, here is your room- 18A," she opened the door to reveal a blandly decorated room that was roughly the size of a garden shed.

There was a bed in the corner of the room, a plastic chair and a door which I assumed connected to a bathroom. It was beyond depressing, and my heart dropped at the sight of the place I would have to stay for the next few months.

"Drop your suitcase in here and I'll take you to the common room which is kind of like a hangout place. You can meet some of the other people staying here," I followed her orders but I found my breathing quicken as we began to walk towards the so- called 'common room'.

From what I had gathered about the place, I was going to meet some rather 'different' people. People that I would never have met otherwise.

I could hear the shouts from the room before I actually entered it and I tugged at the collar of my shirt. I had never been good at socialising sober, always finding myself too awkward to fit in with the normal kids. But with the aid of alcohol, I was able to talk to anyone about anything.

Walking inside that room made me feel like the new kid at school, all eyes turning to me and silence fell over the room. Inside there were all types of people; people from all different kinds of background, people wearing all kinds of wacky clothes and people who looked completely 'normal' to me.

"This is Harry," the smiley receptionist said and I couldn't help but cringe, I just wanted to melt into the carpet to avoid the stares I was getting.

With a pat on my back, she left me to fend for myself and I felt like running out the room. Sitting down on a sofa that wasn't being used, I fiddled with my thumbs, trying to avoid eye contact with everyone.

"What brings you to the freak show?" A girl plopped down onto the sofa next to me and raised an inquisitive eyebrow; her confidence took me off guard and I gulped slightly, feeling slightly lost for words.

"I'm an alcoholic, or at least that's what they're calling me," I replied, feeling the most awkward I had ever felt in my life, "What about you?"

"I murdered my entire family," she said and I choked on my own spit much to her own amusement, "Just kidding, I can't believe you actually believed me!"

"What are you actually here for then? Being a pathological liar?" I found myself relaxing with her, finding amusement in her sense of humour.

"I'm a pyromaniac, plus I like the free food I get here," she winked at me with a devilish smirk on her face, and I couldn't help but smile at her like an idiot.

"What's your name?" I asked boldly, feeling myself already bonding with this girl in front of me.

"Phoenix Waters. Ironic in several ways, I know. My destiny was already planned out from birth, I was named after a bird that sets itself on fire. And I always find amusement in the fact that my name is a subtle oxymoron- fire and water together in one messed up combination. What is your name?"

"Harry Styles, nothing too interesting about it. Sorry to disappoint you," she laughed at me in a way that I wasn't sure whether to feel patronised or proud.

I wasn't surprised that she had such a beautiful name, it matched her perfectly. She was a striking character, with an equally interesting personality. Her hair seemed to fall in perfect waves, and was tucked behind her heavily pierced ears. She seemed too cool to be in a place like that. Too cool to ever stay in one place for a long period of time.

"What are you staring at new boy? I know I'm irresistible but you could be more subtle," she pushed me lightly and I began to blush.

"Harold Styles?" A voice called from behind me and I turned to the door to see a man standing with a clipboard in his hand.

He nodded when he faced me and gestured that I come towards him; I looked back at Phoenix but she was no longer there, already bored and had moved onto the next person she could find who was a scared- looking girl with mousy brown hair.

Walking towards this mysterious man, I felt apprehension bubble inside me. He gave me a warm smile and led me outside the room.

"I'm Dr Smith, your psychiatrist for the next few months. I was wondering if you'd like to have your first session now, unless you don't feel like you've settled yet," he gave me an expectant smile and I couldn't help notice how his forehead didn't move when he smiled. In fact he didn't show much emotion on his face at all.

Botox, I thought to myself.

"Sure..." I murmured, unsure of what else I could say.

It was safe to say that my first day at the centre had already been more eventful than a majority of my life.

So this is the first chapter and Harry's first day at the centre! What did you think?! Who is this slightly sarcastic and outspoken Phoenix Waters, and what will Dr Smith reveal about Harry?

If you want to know, I imagine Phoenix to be Zoë Kravitz (isn't she gorgeous?!)

Please leave feedback and vote if you enjoyed :)