Once in a Lifetime ➳ Larry

chapter eleven

Chapter Eleven

Harry pulls his legs into his chest and whimpers, trying to make himself feel smaller. He just wants to disappear. Wants to forget about everything— the bonding, the fact that he's a vampire, the thirst that burns in his stomach, and most importantly, Louis. He wants to erase those enchanting, silver-tinted eyes from his memory.

He wraps himself up like a cocoon, curling his duvet around his trembling body. He squishes his face into his feather-filled pillow and sighs heavily. He can't think about anything else, no matter how hard he tries. His mind continues to scream Louis's name at full volume, relentlessly, pounding into his skull. He feels lethargic and weak, but he knows that he won't be refreshed until he sees Louis again, and he refuses to do that. Refuses to believe that he's incompetent of caring for himself because he is capable. He's been living on his own for years, after all. He doesn't need Louis.

At least, that's what he keeps telling himself.

Harry whines into his pillow, tears slipping out of his golden eyes. He's terribly hungry, and his stomach growls for blood, but he suppresses those thoughts and pushes them to the back of his brain. He's tired of feeling like a monster. He's tired of all of this, actually.

Eventually, Harry forces himself out of bed and stumbles into his bathroom to take a piss. He scrubs his eyes with his knuckles, trying to wake himself up. He feels dizzy with starvation, and even when he stands to pee, he can't find his balance. He braces himself on the wall and lets out a huff of frustration.

He's drained, both mentally and physically. He craves blood just as much as he craves Louis. He needs them both equally, but he'd rather starve than cave in and admit that he needs help. He wants to be independent. He doesn't like commitment.

Harry stands in front of the sink, mindlessly washing his hands. He looks up in the mirror, wanting to fix his hair, but then he sees nothing. He silently reminds himself that he doesn't have a reflection anymore. He lets out a choked, broken sob. Then, he grabs an elastic band and throws his messy hair up in a tangled bun.

He slowly walks out of the loo, dragging his feet, as if they're attached to chains. As soon as he walks past the couch, he collapses from exhaustion. He presses his head against the armrest and exhales heavily.

Please, Harry.

He pinches his eyes shut and ignores Louis's voice. He doesn't want to listen to it. He wishes he could put his mind on mute.

You're killing yourself. Let me help you.

Harry gulps at the suggestion. No, he's not killing himself. He's already dead. He may still be breathing, but he feels miserable, like he's trapped in a grave six feet underground. And Louis, of all people, is the one who buried him.

I need you, Harry. I'm in pain.

Harry grumbles and rubs his temples in an attempt to relieve his headache. Of course Louis would make this situation about himself. He's a selfish prat.

When Harry blinks his eyes open, his vision turns blurry. He sees multiple layers, like he's looking through a kaleidoscope. He's floating, but at the same time, he's hypersensitive to his surroundings. He lets his lashes flutter shut delicately.

I'm sorry. Please, forgive me. I should've told you, but I was scared of losing you.

That's the last thing Harry hears before he passes out on the couch.

~

Harry awakes to a fist pounding on his front door. He instantly feels fear shooting up his spine. He expects to hear Louis's voice shouting through, telling him that he needs him. He rolls over on the couch and stares up at the ceiling, watching his fan spin around in circles. He ignores the knocking as it increases in volume.