Bruise of Love | L.S ✔

Polygraph Eyes

And loss had never felt so heavenly. The loss of a person whom he worshipped, adored and admired wasn't no more. But sometimes even the gods were strangling. Exactly the way he was.

The fresh breath of air breezed along bearing the name of Harry Styles. And Louis Tomlinson wasn't to blame when he got high on laughter and happiness he acquired from Harry Styles.

Like the cuckoo who waits for the first drop of rain to quench it's age long thirst. Louis couldn't help be the cuckoo and Harry had to be the first droplet of rain for him.

● ● ●

I feel a pair of hands on my ankles. My eyes shoot open, burning and I let out a yelp. In the darkness I cannot make out the intruder, there's only a silhouette.

"Princess," says the silhouette.

I scream bloody murder. It's so loud, I scare myself.

"Shut up, Louis. I'm here to talk not hurt you." A hand covers my mouth.

The hand leaves my mouth and a loud sob escapes me. The fear, the paranoia, everything scary settles heavy over me.

Even though there is no hand, the weight of the palm is still on me. The light flickers and washes Ansel in white.

He had a purple eye, bruised jaw and a scar on the cheekbone. All from Harry Styles.

He drags a chair from the dining table. I sit up, slowly, not wanting to give myself a dizzy spell.

He cocks his head to the side and watches me with a strange glint. The cold is back, settling heavy over me.

I don't speak, fearing the sobs that would inevitably spill if I did. His eyes trace over me, the fear looming over me intensifies.

"Didn't you miss me, Princess?" Ansel asks looking way too blurry and way too smug.

I flop back down and close my eyes, hoping this is a nightmare.

Ansel grunts,"We need to talk."

"I'm listening, that's what I'm supposed to do, innit? You're to talk and I'm to listen," I reply, not opening my eyes.

"I want you to remember everything, since the night in the pub."

I do think of it, overthink a lot about it.

*past*

Four years prior to Ansel, Louis had been quiet and shy. He preferred to appreciate the silence. Inebriated Louis was a completely different person.

Even though his mum had a problem with him going out, he still snuck out past midnight.

He met up with his best friends, got a little tipsy on cheap wine and slowly came out of his shell.

He was freshly twenty two, his mates back home took him to a seedy pub around the outskirts of the tiny town they lived in.

Not the one to brave and get drunk yet, Louis hung in a corner, silently observing the people grinding on each other, drunkenly stumbling out with smeared make up.

It was all fun and booze and hazy. He remembers giving into peer pressure and doing shots. His shoes were cutting into his ankles. He kicked them off.

His smashed mind thought it was a good idea to climb on the table and swing his hips and he did. A few hollers and a warning to kick them out later, Louis sat down on one of the stools.

His bare feet had blisters. A man, tall and handsome slid in beside him. Not the one to initiate a conversation, Louis simply checked him out.

Tousled auburn hair and slightly freckled face. He was tall, he didn't know the eye colour. Not with the stinging light in his eyes.