17BLACK

Chapter 73

Louis' POV:

I don't know how long I'm out, but I wake up with drool dribbling down my chin and an unlit joint in my fingers. I'm on the floor, right under the windows. My head hurts and I groan in pain as I try moving my tense limbs. I've been here a while.

I run my hand over my face and try to think of what I remember last. I was going to the loo, I think. I'm pretty positive on this. Maybe.

It's dark outside. I think that I can hear the pitter patter of rain outside. London, you've let me down once again. Rain doesn't mix well with feeling sorry for yourself.

Rain does go well together with snogging, though. Preferably passionately with a cluster of flowers between you and your lover. And after you would go to dinner, and then back home to fall asleep wrapped against each other, your curves fitting perfectly with the nooks of the larger body accompanying you.

Shit. Shit. Shit. I've moved into dangerous territory. What was once a happy field of flowers and love has now been plowed over roughly and declared a no man's land.

It is not to be entered.

I heave myself to my feet with difficulty. My body feels like lead. My head feels worse.

I light the joint and put it between my lips. The phone on the kitchen counter is staring at me intently, commanding me to look at its contents. I sigh a cloud of smoke and exasperation.

After a moments hesitation I pick the phone up. Will has texted me seventeen times, Aaron eleven. Their messages aren't what catch my eye, though.

Harry has called. Four times. The notifications are almost lost in the list of Will-and-Aaron-dominated recents, but I notice them immediately. He's left four voicemails.

I inhale the smoke deeply and click on the first one with great bravery. He can't hurt me over the phone.

"Hey... uh, it's me. I don't have to say my name to I? That's caller-ID's job. Anyway I want you to know that I you should really try a purple-nurple one day. They're amazing."

His voice is slower than usual, like honey that has been in the fridge. The endings of his words are slurred, some of them nearly incomprehensible. He's drunk. And by the sound of it he has been for a while.

I smoke a bit more and go to the next one. This one is full of background noises.

"Hey Louwee! Guys say hi to Louwee!" There is loud music shadowing his words. He moves the phone, causing a lot of shuffling and then I hear a drunk chorus of Hi's.

The voicemail ends.

He's at a club. I immediately begin to worry, but the smoke slowly taking the room over is telling me that I shouldn't care. I feel my shoulders relaxing.

They're only voicemails, after all. They are much nicer than the demons haunting this apartment constantly.

On to voicemail number three.

"So it's like two a.m. right now and I really fucking miss you. I know I was wrong and you probably don't want me anymore but I need you and I'm wasted I think-"

The timer goes off. I feel a sharp pain in my heart and I desperately try getting high as fast as possible. I don't want to feel this. He's just admitted to needing me, but he was drunk and Harry never really needed me anyways. He's hurt and it's my fault. 

The thought settles in my chest. I can't go back to him, the bright eyed boy who I tricked into falling in love with me until his brightest colors were bleached and marred.