Beneath the Midnight Sky

Seventeen

The leather bound journal lay lazily in his lap as the porch swing allowed gravity to motion it back and forth. The semester would be ending soon meaning procrastination time was over. With all the chaos happening around him, he hardly had time for music much less creative writing. 

He was suffering a drought in the inspiration department anyway.

Frustrated, he threw the journal on the floor. He watched as the pen rolled carelessly down the stairs.

Hearing the loud thump the journal made, Louis stepped out of the house and sat beside Harry on the swing.

"Feel like I haven't talked to you all day," he smiled as he slumped down beside Harry on the swing.

"Went to the lake earlier, remember?" Harry asked staring off into space. "I figured you wanted to spend time with your Mom and pack."

Exhaling, Louis hesitated. "Can I tell you something without upsetting you?" He waited on Harry to nod before proceeding. "I don't want to be in recovery. When you're in the cycle, you feel control and poise. When you recover, that's when the real sickness sets in." He said fiddling with his hands in his lap. "Life becomes unbearable, more so than before. You may be a healthy weight, but your emotions and mind plead for death everyday." He searched Harry's eyes for a reaction didn't receive one from the neutral face. "I have my manuscript ready for class. Will you turn it in for me?" He questioned as Harry nodded again.

"This doesn't seem real." Harry said still staring forward. "I've noticed something depressing, if you want to call it that. When you watch your soulmate slowly dying everyday, it becomes contagious; the yearning, the apathy. You see someone in so much pain that you question your own sanity. You wonder if happiness is attainable. If someone so perfect sees themselves so distorted and lives everyday in agony, there's no hope. All I can wish is to fade away with you." He numbly confessed.

Louis stood up and placed himself between Harry's legs resting his knees on the porch floor. 

"What?"

"I'm not good at farewell, Lou." He said as he stood up. Louis fell backwards. Without looking at him, he gathered his journal and walked toward his car.

"Wait!" Louis clumsily chased after him, feeling drunk and dizzy from the low blood pressure emancipation causes. 

 

Harry placed his keys in the ignition. Contemplating on leaving Louis, he knew he couldn't; not again.

"If you choose to go with me, you may leave me," Harry said looking straight ahead, gripping the steering wheel. Any hope of using mindfulness had perished.

Louis latched his seatbelt. "Let's go."
_______________

The scenery passed quickly as he tried to stay focused on the colors of Doncaster. He knew he would be going to England tomorrow and wanted to remember everything his hometown had to offer. He always was one for nostalgia, and wanted to cling onto the positive memories of his life.

He made fog appear on the passenger window before drawing a heart and scribbling L+H inside the abstract structure. Smiling, he looked over at a troubled Harry. His face melted into a frown and he continued to stare back through the window. 

Truth being: he was petrified about tomorrow. He had been down this routine before and knew exactly what would ensue. He meant what he said: recovery felt like you are dying within your soul. Why would someone want to take away the only means of coping with life? Who can tell someone how to live? Who can sit and preach that eating disorders are about control when you have zero control? A paradox.