Lunatic (l.s)

Chapter 17- H

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If hell was a real place, and god Louis knew it was, this was it. Hell was the in-between of life and death. Hell was the actual loss of consciousness and feeling, but also being alive all at once. Being aware of your surroundings but not able to scream for help. Louis knew this all too well, he knew this dream all too well. Where everything surrounding his was quiet and covered with thick, dense fog. Louis found it ironic that even in this almost death-state, his soul didn't leave the damn fucking asylum. He finds himself standing in a ghostly empty hallway. There are thousands of whispering voices, and they're so quiet that Louis cannot understand. This happened every fucking time.

"Can you just let me fucking die!" Louis screams, his voice echoing around him, bouncing off the walls, floors and ceiling.

He doesn't know who he's asking, because there's no one here but himself. He's asked himself that question but there's never an answer. The concrete floors are cold under his feet, and Louis' breath turns into fog as he exhales. He shakes his head and forces his legs to move. He looks around the place, taking in all the details. If he was dead, this would probably be his resting place at this point. Maybe he shouldn't die. He doesn't want to live in this world forever. He can't escape in life or death. The thick billows of fog dance around him, almost tauntingly.

This is all a hallucination

He repeats it over, and over. However, it doesn't make this any easier. He almost literally jumps out of his skin when he notices a dark figure move quick at the end of the hall. He wasn't alone.

"Who is that?"

Louis internally slaps himself.

If you ever see shit like that, you don't yell. You turn and run. You of all people should know that. Dickhead.

Louis still finds himself walking closer to the end of the hallway, and squints. The figure is leaning against a wall, and Louis can smell smoke.

"Look, I'm not here to cause any trouble. I just...I don't know," Louis stutters

Eventually, after what feels like almost a century, he stands near it. And he doesn't want to believe it. Louis wants to run because of-fucking-course Harry fucking Styles is standing there. With a fucking cigarette between his ghostly lips. Harry doesn't look like himself though, it's almost a demonic version of him and Louis' hands are shaking. This is one fucked up dream and he wants to wake up. The smell of smoke is too strong, it makes Louis feel like he's suffocating.

"Stop it," Louis stares at Harry

Harry cocks his head, and smirks softly before dropping the cigarette. The cigarette almost disintegrates into ashes as it hits the floor. Louis takes a moment or two to take in Harry's features. He's evil, so haunting but yet so endearing.

His skin is pale, washed out. It's almost a deathly white. His lips are a pale pinkish purple, and his eyes seem to be lifeless. They're the most dull, dark green that Louis has ever seen. It's so evil. Harry's wearing a pair of black jeans that cling tight to his flame and a tight fitting black t-shirt. His chocolate curls are falling loose.

"What are you doing here, Louis?" Harry's voice is low, gravelly and passes Louis like a gust of strong wind.

"You don't get to ask me that, why are you here?" Louis stammers

"You wanted me here,"

"Bullshit I did,"

"Then why are you imagining me here?"

"I'm not!"

"This is your safe place Louis. You're imagining this all, and I'm just a part of it," Harry smiles, revealing those deep dimples.