One Small Detail- A Louis Tomlinson Fan Fiction

Michaela

For the second time in only a day, I’d gone farther with Louis than I had with anyone else. I was a little surprised at myself, honestly. Not only had I had sex, but I’d done it with a person that I didn’t know anything about, much less had love for. Morally I knew that it was wrong. Last night when I was drunk was bad enough, but I’d just let it happen again. I started to feel almost bad until I realized that there wasn’t anything I could do to change it now, whether I agreed with it or not. It was too late. After a little more thought, I didn’t even regret this choice anymore. I’d just needed an excuse to disgrace my father’s name a little more, and Louis had given me that opportunity, and a fun one at that. I’d never really thought that moral abandonment would feel like this, but I enjoyed it. I’d enjoyed him. After all he was pretty fit, and he knew pleasure inside and out. I started to wonder what a life with him could be like as I stood wrapped in my towel still dripping slightly as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Maybe this could be more that just one night. I knew that I shouldn’t contemplate having feelings for him, but I couldn’t deny the way that I was beginning to feel, despite my desperate attempts to shove the thoughts away.

Don’t, I told myself. This was one time only. But what if it wasn’t? I silently wondered if maybe I should try to get his phone number. I wasn’t sure that I was ready to give this up just yet. But what if he already had someone else?He couldn’t if he’d agreed to have me last night. That wouldn’t be right.

As I finished drying off, I opened the door and crept back to the bedroom. When I rounded the sharp corner, I was greeted by warm sunlight filtering through the half closed curtains and Louis’ chiseled frame sitting half dressed on the bed. I quietly wandered inside and grabbed the two small articles of clothing that were lying on the floor near the bed, my undergarments, and quickly slipped into them without saying a word.

“Want anything to eat?” Louis startled me with the question and I looked up to see him staring at me from his seat on the messy bed.

“Sure,” I responded with a smile. I didn’t really want to leave just yet, and the offer of food gave me a reason to stay just a little bit longer. I was almost shocked to see the color drain from his face after I’d accepted his offer. Was he nervous about something? Didn’t he want me to stay, and if he hadn’t, then why did he offer? I watched, puzzled, as he quickly got up off the bed and hurried toward what I’m guessing was the kitchen calling, “I’ll go make us some sandwiches,” behind him. I followed more slowly, gathering my things from off the floor along the way as I pondered what could’ve made Louis act like he’d seen a ghost. When I finally found the kitchen with most of my clothing intact, I was greeted by the sight of freshly prepared turkey sandwiches sitting precariously on plates at a crowded table. I looked around for a few moments, expecting to see Louis eating as well, but he was nowhere in sight. I slid into a seat and started to eat, but immediately stopped when I heard what sounded like a piano being played.

“Louis?” I stood up from the table as I finished and began to wander around looking for him. His apartment would’ve been nice if it wasn’t so filthy. Beautiful white furniture was covered in papers and used dishes, and there was scarcely a section of flooring that didn’t have laundry scattered on it. Tiptoeing, and attempting to sidestep most of the messes, I made my way out of the kitchen and down a long hallway on the other side of the room, toward the music. The music got louder as I approached, and I stopped for a moment to listen to the beautiful and eerie tune. After a moment, I realized that I recognized the song. It was A Search for Certainty by Wayne Gratz. It had been one of my mother’s favorites, and she’d often played its recording loudly through the house as her and I danced to it, or in her later years after she broke her hip, read silently on the couch. As the song drew to a close, I entered the room, which seemed to be the cleanest in the house, to see Louis sitting in front a large, white grand piano his fingers flying seamlessly over the keys. He looked up and, noticing me, stopped abruptly. Louis acted embarrassed to be playing the song, and he slammed the key cover down on the piano.

“Have you been there the whole time?” His cheeks flushed a bright red, and his arms fell into his lap as his shoulders slumped over.

“Not the whole time, just the last couple minutes,” I responded quietly. “But what I heard was amazing. I love that song.” Louis looked at me quizzically as I came farther into the room and rested my elbows on the edge of the piano as I slouched over. “My mother used to play it all the time and the song reminds me of her,” I admitted, flashing a sheepish smile.

“Your mother played the piano?”

“Oh, no,” I responded, shaking my head. “She just played the recording in the house. She loved to dance to it. We used to pretend that we were ballerinas.” I glanced over at him to see his large, ocean colored eyes locked on me. “She was such a wonderful dancer.”

“You keep referencing her in the past tense,” he observed, shifting position slightly on the piano bench. “What happened?”

“She passed away from cancer last year,” I said as I tried to hold back tears that had started to form against my will. “I haven’t listened to it since.” I tilted my head back and forced the salty fluid to drain away. I refused to break down; I wasn’t that girl, and I didn’t want to be. “I don’t even know why I told you all that,” I said finally breaking the silence that had momentarily fallen over the room. “I just came in here to say that I was leaving.”

“It’s okay to let it in,” he said, so quietly that it was almost inaudible.

“What,” I said, the words hiding behind a small sniffle that I hadn’t wanted to be there.

“The hurt,” he responded, lifting a hand to rest on my forearm. “It’s okay to let it in. It’s okay not to be okay.” I nodded slowly, but didn’t look at him. For the next few moments I avoided eye contact.

“I have to go,” I said finally, clearing my throat of the lump that was beginning to grow there, and trying to sound nonchalant. I was already getting a little too close to him, and I knew I shouldn’t because this was only a one-time thing. What was the use in getting close to someone that I’d never see again? I needed to leave. I needed to get out of this room to get fresh air, and to escape the thoughts that stormed through my head in a whirlwind of emotion. I didn’t want to face these emotions. I tried desperately to build my walls back up, to steel myself, so that I could hide from these thoughts. I wasn’t the feely type. I wasn’t an emotional person, I never had been, and that wasn’t going to change now.

“I do too,” he said after a moment of heavy silence. “I’m meeting a friend, but I’d love to see you again.” I nodded.

“Sure,” I responded. “Anyway, thanks for listening.” I stole a glance at him one last time and showed a weak smile before I turned, and, without another word, left the apartment.