clean » larry stylinson

[08]

though they live within the same apartment, louis' bedroom door has remained tightly, locking the boy's apart and leaving louis to reside further and further into himself. liam knew from times past that when louis did eventually remerge for a purpose other than collecting fistfuls of food, the outside world would have been reduced to nothing more than a vacant blur. and though he knows that louis found his high off this feeling of absolute coldness, the complete lack of sensitivity to all other factors that usually would send his heart pounding and his mind thrashing, he has also concluded that the feeling must surely mirror some sort of toxic drug, polluting his friend's veins and clouding his every judgement.

he's only thankful that louis was able to pull himself out of it soon enough to be able to physically trail along the streets and breathe in the crisp air. its almost like there was another factor urging him along. and considering the way louis' face is scorning at him, rendered into an expression of both distaste and betrayal, liam can assume that his occasional attempts at breaking louis' latest silence were not the reason.

though liam noted, on the first day post 'incident', that an abundance of blankets, unlit cigarettes and empty liquor bottles was not entirely uncharacteristic for his bitter moods, as louis' time in solitude dragged on, the seriousness of his actions began to weigh in.

liam really did think that louis would cave a lot sooner than he did, usually his friend could barely undergo twenty-four hours without making some sort of a light-hearted sarcastic or sassy comment to him. but as the silence continued, it began to dawn on the boy that honestly, he must have truly messed up. to no small scale either.

and now as they stand upon frosted grass underneath the morning sky, louis stares with hurt eyes towards liam. louis' isn't sure if his mind has exaggerated details of his memory, altered them perhaps to remain in tough with his irate disdain for his parents, but the sickening feeling that would gnaw at his stomach whenever they were around him remains painfully fresh.

'they would just stare at me. they were always staring. i would do something ridiculously tiny, like want to keep doors closed, or just wash my hands for a few too many times per hour, and every single time, my mother was there to call me out on it. not speaking. just ... judging. as though i was some sort of a freak who both intrigued her, yet made her slightly fearful.' louis takes a breath. this isn't anything new that he's telling liam; really, he's just playing the sympathy card once more. but it's not at all because he wants to be sympathised with. 'all because i showed a bloody symptom.'

the boy is unsure of how to begin to explain his emotions, let alone the sheer depth of them. but he can feel the crisp wind lick at the side of his face, shading his lips blue, and he decides that that is all too be said for now. with a murmur of something incoherent to follow, louis switches off, his face returning to a cooler demeanour once more.

liam can sense that he's losing him.

though they don't discuss it often, liam has been friends with louis for long enough of a time – he's been there at all of the right moments and really, has had too many drinks with him, too often, to have not heard parts of this story before.

louis' deadbeat of a father was what wound louis up in therapy for anxiety. his mother viewed her son as a living, breathing anxiety disorder, not as someone in need of help. and as much as liam wishes he could beg louis to see that he is better than his family, that he is better than a label, that prescription drugs aren't a personality trait, he too cannot find the words, no matter how hard he searches.

instead he's there for his closest friend as just that, a friend. though liam almost knows that in moments like this, that probably isn't good enough. They keep on walking.