Wilted Flowers [Edited]

27. Dealing With It

The next day contains no detail because Louis can't remember it. He wakes up in his empty apartment, alone and depressed. His body begs for sustenance, but he refuses. The pangs are real, though, and his bran overrides his desires and chants I need SOMETHING, ANYTHING.

He raids the pantry and snarls his nose at everything. Pasta, bread, beans, rice, fruit cocktail, ramen noodles, pretzels, chips, all of it.

"Interesting," He sees a bottle of Irish Jameson whiskey in all its glory. He bids the bottle hello like an old friend and scurries to his room. He sits on his pink carpet and gulps down the contents. The nectar burns in his throat, but soon enough, it'll provide an escape from all his pain; at least, he hopes so.

Purple pansies slowly dying sit on his dresser. He lets out a groan when he recalls Harry picking them from the meadow just behind the apartment. He twirls a red bracelet that once meant so much to Harry, now in his possession. Sitting on top of his suitcase that he's yet to unpack, he sees Froggo. All the memories in his room....a pile of blankets lay piled in front the floor, Harry's little make-shift bed.

"The monsters always know where to find me. I hope you meant what you said earlier, that you'd protect me from them...." He didn't know that Harry was, in fact, one of them. Fool's gold.

One shot of alcohol to forget. One-shot to remember.

Stomach cramps hit him instantaneously. His body rejects the alcohol painfully all over his carpet. He doesn't bother to clean it up. Instead, he rips off his clothes and curls himself into Harry's blankets.

The fabric lingers hints of Harry's scent. Louis wants to take another shot. He knows he's messed up, too. He can't fully blame Harry for this. He should've made this commitment to him. He should've tried harder.

Crying, head throbbing, throat burning. Alone. Did he have to be alone, though?

He reached for his phone. "Clay?" He sniffles. "You were right....can you come over? Niall is still on vacation.....I need you."

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Harry sits in front of his computer with a templete up for the school newspaper. He writes out the words Is It Slut-Shaming If You Are In Fact A Slut?

If a man turns down a woman's advances, he gets called gay as an insult. Well, I am gay and proud. That's beside the point.

A slut, by definition, is a promiscuous person.

"Fuck!" He says as he erases the words.

Just like last night, LouisLouisLouis continues to dance around in his mind. Last night, he couldn't even sleep. It doesn't help that Ed's his roommate and keeps shooting daggers with his eyes.

"I didn't even do anything!" He shouts out of frustration.

He knows this isn't a debate of being good or bad; in the end: it's about the battle between love and war.