café » l.s ✔

iv

Louis loved and hated Saturdays.

Loved because he didn't have to go to work.
Hated because he didn't have to go to work.

Work was tiring and took up most of his time but that was the good thing about it. Because of work, he didn't have to stay at home and be faced with all his fears, surrounding him, laughing and mocking him.

Work was the reason he couldn't spend his whole day binging and purging and yes, he would be starving and yes, the stomach pangs made him want to curl up in a ball and die, but he would take that any day than the constant stuffing of his face then the puking.

When Louis didn't have anything to distract him from that feeling in his stomach or that tingly, dry sensation in his mouth that knew meant he wanted to eat, he would raid his fridge, his cupboards, eat and eat and eat until his stomach couldn't handle any more, until he was peering down and seeing the bump that dented his shirt.

That was usually when the guilt set in. That was usually when he ran to the bathroom, sometimes forgetting to lock the door since he'd be in such a hurry, and ridding himself of the creatures that crawled up to his closet and sowed his clothes a little smaller—usually called calories.

Today was Saturday.

And Louis had just puked out everything he had eaten for the sixth time that day, and he had only been awake for three hours.

All his guilt was gone, for now, was all out and in the toilet. But the self hatred was still there, the bits of fat that clung to his stomach and thighs were still there, secrets he could never tell a soul, that were eating through his inner core and ripping him apart were still there. And every time the toilet ended up in front of him and his fingers ended up down his throat, he just hoped he could get rid of all that with the food and the guilt. (He never did)

Louis heard his phone ring all the way from his room, getting himself up and flushing the toilet. He reached for the bathroom spray in the cupboard under the sink, spraying it around to freshen the place and try to make it seem as if he hadn't been doing anything in there.

He washed his hands then walked to his room, silencing the crying phone by swiping his finger across the screen and pressed the small device to his ear.

"Lou." Niall said softly on the other end, a big contrast to his loud and bubbly voice. "We haven't talked since I told you. Two days ago, to be exact. You've been ignoring my calls and messages too."

Louis sighed and walked out his room, the phone still pressed to his ear as he took a seat on the couch and reached for the remote to turn the TV on.

"I'm not mad at you, Niall, if that's what you're implying. I'm not going to secretly shave all your hair while you're sleeping one night, don't worry." Louis said before getting serious. "I'm more mad at myself, to be honest. I don't know how I fucked it all up with Zayn so quickly." He ran a hand through his hair.

"It's not your fault. Zayn... Zayn should've stuck around if he knew about your problems-"

"I don't have problems-"

"You have things you're not telling us. Things that are bothering you." Niall interjected, exhaling. "But, anyway, if Zayn really cared, he would've stayed for you. His reason of leaving was stupid in the first place."

"You're just saying that because you have to."

"No, I'm saying that because that's what I think." He sighed once more. "Just give it some time. He'll come through for you."

Louis stared at the TV screen he wasn't concentrating on, chewing on the inside of his cheek, just about ready to disagree when his phone beeped twice, indicating another call.