The Wrong direction (one direction Fan Fic)

chapter 19

Feed back?  I love feed back!  It's what keeps me writting!  Thank you all so much for writing comments and reviews- trust me when I say I read them all.  They just make my day, and shape the future of this story for the better.

So, here you will now find out what happened to Harry.  Stay tuned!

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3rd P.O.V.

Can we create something beautiful and destroy it?

Destroyed.  That's what really described how Louis felt.  He felt as if everything was torn away from him and there was nothing that he could do to save it. That was reality though- he couldn't save it. Nothing he could do would make Harry come back to life.

Louis stayed on the floor for hours.  He watched as people came and went in the room. He didn't move- just thought.  He drown him self in the guilt. 

The though of how he could have saved his best friend from his grave haunted his existence.  It shook his bones and made him shiver.  If Harry could die just that, what did that mean about life? What made life worth living?

People died all the time.  Everyone loses someone that means the world to them. Even Louis had lost his grandmother a few years before his accumulated fame, but never in his life had Louis lost his best friend.  And what hurt him more was that Harry's death could have been 100% preventable.  Someone, anyone could have saved him from dying!  And right now, at this moment, Louis was blaming himself because out of everyone in the world because He should have been that person to protect Harry from his death.

Louis could hear the patter of the rain against the hospital window.  He watched the droplets fell over the glass.  They reminded him of his own tears.  They reminded him to let go.  The rain reminded him of Harry. 

Haz used to love rain.  When ever the down pour of the afternoon showers would come, Harry would run around screaming for Louis to come out and dance with him in the rain. The two lads would hold hands and run through the storm with out a care in the world.  Their clothes would cling to their own fit chests, and Harry's curls would be matted down on his forehead.

After days such as those, at night, Louis would always catch Harry up late at night with his journal, writing down everything that had happened that day.   When ever Harry would write, his little tongue would poke out and his brows would be creases as he intently focused on his paper. 

Infact, almost every night Louis would catch Harry writting.  It was almost like his excape from the all of the fame. When he would write, he would seem as though he had been lifted into another world.  Except, the world that he would go was bliss.  No pain, no hurt, no suffering.....

Louis's head shot up.  He wiped the tears away from him eyes, and carefully tried to lift up his exhausted body from the ground.  An  idea was formed into his mind.

Harry used to write.  He used to write everything from what he had eaten to what he had seen to what had happened in that day.  Could Harry have written about what had happened to make him hate himself?  Could he?  Could have Harry written down what had happened in America?

Louis wasted no time.  He had to know...he just had to.  The idea that he could have been to blame for his friends death haunted him.  Had he been the reason Harry had died?  The reason his friend had hurt himself? 

Lou ran into a nurse on his way out the door.  In fact he hit her so hard she feel to the ground dropping whatever bottles she had on her tray and spilling them all over the floor.  Louis instantly regretted his decision to ever run, and bent down to help her pick up the mess he had created.