The idea for this story came from "Kill Your Darlings," but in a more modern world way.
Louis Tomlinson begins college in London after transferring from Doncaster and meets Harry Styles who will change his future. Somehow, he gets caught up in Harr...
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Louis Tomlinson
Harry had a wet cloth that he was using to wipe my face gently as we stood in the bathroom. I had showered after Zayn, and Harry being Harry had to play nurse.
"I could do this myself, you know," I managed to smile at him, his eyes looking back and a small smile coming across his face. I needed that smile right now.
"I don't mind," he spoke softly, before he gently used a cotton ball full of alcohol above my nose. I flinched a little and he noticed, "sorry."
"It's fine, love," I reassured him as I kept watching him. His face still looked much worse than mine, that was for sure...
"Harry," I managed to get out as he sat the cotton balls on the sink and rinsed his hands, "can I... can I ask you something?"
He shut the water off and dried his hands, his eyes looking back, "I guess."
"Would you consider help?" I asked him in almost a whisper. Harry didn't look at me; he kept his arms crossed in front of him and his eyes focused down on the rings on his hand.
"I mean... I mean, like therapy," I spoke again, before I gently touched his arm. He looked back at me and I knew that was a huge step for him... I knew it was a step he never wanted to take. Now, I didn't see any other option. If he continued to live with the mentality he had, it would kill him. And I wouldn't lose him because of that bastard.
"How... how can I go to therapy?" His voice cracked and his eyes not meeting mine, "I... no, I don't want to sit and tell someone everything..."
"Harry," I interrupted him, "stop. Stop now."
He closed his mouth and leaned back against the wall as I stood in front of him.
"This isn't your fault," I started, though I was fighting the urge to shout it again... I knew I didn't need to yell. Yeah, he needed to believe it, but he didn't need someone else shouting at him. "None of this is your fault. You have got to realize that. You need someone who can help you... who can explain why you feel like you do."
"Is there an explanation for it?" He asked me, his face vulnerable again as he stared back at me.
I stood still, looking at that face and remembering the first time he had ever looked at me in that way... standing on the balcony of that house when he was confessing to me what his life had become.
If I had known then how deep he was, would I have ran the other way? I knew I wouldn't have honestly; there was nothing that I regretted about meeting him, about becoming a part of him. He was everything to me now.
"I think there is an explanation," I finally replied, trying to nod. Harry looked back at me, "and I think you should talk to someone... I think someone needs to help you."
"I... I don't know...," he sighed out, "what if... what if..."
"Stop with the 'what ifs'," I interjected immediately, "no more 'what ifs', Harry. You know deep down that you should get help... don't you?"
