"Are we going to sit in silence for an hour again, Sarah?"

I hate the sound of her voice; nasal and demanding and yet somehow still so calm and collected. I don't reply. I stare at the beige carpet; my eyes zeroing in on a pin that's obviously fallen from her noticeboard - the one covered in self-help posters.

She shuffles in her burgundy armchair and the stack of bangles on her left wrist crash together as if trying to snap me out of my angry fog. "As I said yesterday and the day before, I can only begin to imagine what you must be feeling right now. But your mother is concerned and she's paying a lot of money for these sessions. Don't waste them."

Dr Thestle was recommended by one of my parent's colleagues two days after Harry's television appearance. Apparently shutting yourself in your bedroom for thirty-six hours isn't considered normal behaviour - even if you did spend the best part of a month in the middle of the Indian Ocean wondering if you were going to die. Cue maternal panic.

Thestle is middle-aged with thin lips and straw-like hair. There's nothing remotely approachable about her. Nothing that makes me want to share the tale of how I came to have my name uttered by Harry Styles' lips on live television.

Her carpet is far more appealing.

She purses her lips and I wonder how much longer it's going to be until she finally gives up asking the same questions. I agreed to attend these sessions for my mother's sake. I never agreed to utilise them.

"Your mother told me that you've barely left the house since you arrived home. It's been almost three weeks." She states.

What's her point?

I barely left the house before the accident. Addie and Jules are my only real friends and Jules doesn't really count because she's my Aunt. Unless it's for work, pancakes at Marley's or Christmas shopping in Oxford Street, I'm quite happy staying at home. Thestle doesn't know a thing about me.

"She also told me about Harry."

I snap my head up. What the hell does she know about Harry?

I narrow my eyes, almost daring her to say something else. She's just staring at me; her eyebrows slightly raised in recognition of the fact that she's finally provoked a reaction from me. I want to leave but the canary yellow clock on the wall is telling me that I've only been in this suffocating room for twenty minutes.

The clock that reminds me awfully of Harry's damn swimming trunks.

"Your Aunt told her that - to some extent - Harry saved your life while you were stranded on that island."

Stop.

"She said you grew close out there. And naturally so; you were deserted with no means of contacting help. You didn't know if you were going to die or see your loved ones again. Naturally you would become closer."

Don't make this out to be some typical occurrence. It's more than that.

"She said you were separated in the hospital and that he had promised to come and find you but was escorted out early. Is that correct?"

My breathing is heavy and my eyes are burning with the threat of oncoming tears. I want to decimate Jules for sharing this information with my mother and then do the same to my mother for passing it on to Thestle.

I've never felt more vulnerable or humiliated than I do right now.

"I think you are having difficulty readjusting to life at home." Dr Thestle tells me, folding her hands into her lap with a triumphant, yet sympathetic expression. I hate how she thinks she can just tell me what I'm thinking as if I don't know it myself. "I think it must be disorientating having gone from such an extreme environment to your normal life. And I think those feelings will pass."

I'm pouting. I know I am. I don't know what to do with my face or my hands that won't make me look like what she is saying is having any real effect. I just want her to stop talking.

"But mostly, I think that you feel betrayed."

He promised...

My lower lip is wobbling and I don't seem to have any control over it. I haven't cried since that day in the hospital room with Jules and I don't intend to start again any time soon. But all the pins in the world scattered across the carpet couldn't distract me from this.

"I think you're disappointed that Harry broke his promise; that he left you waiting."

I screw my eyes shut. She doesn't have a clue what she's talking about. She wasn't there.

He promised...he promised....he promised...

"And I think that because you thought he was the only one who would ever truly understand - you can't wrap your head around why he did what he did."

I can't listen to this anymore; my eyes feel bruised from the pressure I'm applying and I feel like I'm drowning in her smugness. My eyelids shoot open and I glare in her direction.

"Stop!" I snap and she relaxes into the chair.

"Ah - she speaks." If she didn't look triumphant before, then she definitely does now. "Judging by that reaction, I'm going to assume that I'm correct."

I wonder how many times she's said that to clients; having just wound them up to the point that they all but explode with the truth. I've never hated anyone, but I hate her.

"It's ok to feel like that, Sarah." Her tone is perkier now as if the last five minutes was just a facade to torture me until I cracked. Does this woman seriously have the credentials she boasts on her office door? "You were all each other had. His promise meant something to you."

My face is damp and there's water dribbling over the edge of my upper lip. I am not crying.

"Please, stop." I whisper, unable to muster any real volume.

"The whole point of these sessions is for you to talk about what it is that's making you feel this way." She cocks her head to one side, much like a bemused Labrador Retriever puppy. "The more you ignore it, the worse you're going to feel."

I want to tug on my hair until it falls out.

I want to pin Thestle to her own noticeboard so that she'll mind her own business.

I want to tell my mother and Jules to stop interfering.

I want Harry to come and find me.

"You don't understand!" I say more confidently. My tone is bitter and the words are sharp on my tongue. "Harry is the main reason I am home. I don't want him to be the reason I'm lost too."

"And that," she says; leaning forward and giving my hands a gentle squeeze. "Is the answer I have been waiting for."