Wide Awake (One Direction / Larry Stylinson)

Chapter 40

I DO NOT OWN THIS STORY! ALL RIGHT GOES TO *IamADirectioner*

http://www.fanfiction.net/u/3941498/IAmADirectioner Go check her out :D

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Louis's POV:

White, feathery ashes float from the ceiling to the floor. Some come to rest on my shoulders. The room which I'm in is only charred remains.

Where am I?

Oh. I remember. This is our apartment.

Our apartment caught fire before, I'm pretty sure.

Anyway.

Where's Harry?

Probably outside.

Hmmm. Why'd I come in here, anyway?

I miss this place, I think to myself sadly. It used to be really cozy.

Oh well.

I turn on my heels and slowly trudge out of the room - my room. Harry's room door is burnt to shreds, revealing coal-black walls and burnt furniture.

The ashes still fall from the ceiling, a slippery sort of grey color, which turns snowy-white in the sunlight streaming through the window.

The door leading outside is the only thing left intact; just with streaks of ebony-black running its length.

I grip the door handle, and twist it. The door opens, just before the handle dissolves into burnt crumbles in my palm.

Dismayed, I shake the ashes out of my hand, and step outside.

Suddenly, I'm on the streets, and people are screaming at me, yelling at me, tearing at my clothes.

I'm not too alarmed; this tends to happen when you're in a famous boyband.

But then I caught a few words.

"DIRTY FAGGOT!"

"ROT IN HELL, TOMLINSON!"

"YOU SHOULD DIE! YOU SHOULD DIE!"

Fear snatches up my heart, and I begin running, running away, far away.

The people chase after me, hands clawing and snatching.

"HARRY SHOULD'VE LIVED INSTEAD OF YOU!"

"... TOOK ADVANTAGE OF AN INNOCENT BOY!..."

"GAY IDIOT!"

I have no idea what they're talking about.

"Harry!" I hear myself shout in terror.

The clawing increases, and the volume of the screams increase.

"HE'S DEAD! HE'S DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU!"

"YOU SHOULD BURN IN HELL LIKE HE BURNED ON EARTH!"

"SELFISH, PATHETIC, DIRTY, UGLY, BLASPHEMOUS..."

The insults go on and on and on, each words seeming to bounce on me and shove me in the wrong directions. I keep running, greif-stricken.

He's... dead?

He's dead.

My Harry's dead.

A sob escapes my throat.

"Dead."

I shiver at the familiar voice.

"Zayn?" My voice is a whisper, which is loud in the sudden silence. All at once, I'm alone - except for Zayn.