It Comes in Waves

Fourty Three

I don't leave Louis' house for eight days after that. I wear his clothes and use his shower and eat at his kitchen table with him.

We say goodnight when it gets to be around midnight and I go to the spare room, but thirty minutes later he's calling my name or I'm calling his and then I'm curled up against him in the middle of his giant bed, warm underneath the blankets and safe.

We give up the false pretense of the spare room by the fifth night and I just go up to bed with him.

And we're happy. Louis sings in the shower and gazes at me like he is bursting with love the first time I find myself doing his dishes as if it's something I do all the time here.

I drift off every now and then each day, but even my alternate reality is happy. Mum takes Gemma and I fishing and I don't cry on the boat once.

I'm living in a world where I am loved every second of every day and I love someone just as much just as frequently and there is no therapy that will ever beat that.

Louis' hands, warm on my back underneath my shirt, are the medication keeping me rooted to this reality. His laughter is responsible for the sun rising and setting each day. Somewhere deep down I know that can't be true and it can't be scientifically possible, but it feels that way.

On the morning of the ninth day, Louis wakes me up with the words "We should go to your house."

I'm sad and scared because I think he's saying he wants me to go back forever, but he told me before he wants me here forever, so how does that make sense?

He's almost determined as we walk back to my house and he keeps a tight grip on my hand. I'm sick when we walk in, but then he's digging a suitcase out of the hall closet, and we're packing my things into it. Permanent. Louis and I are permanent. More permanent than death.

Mags has been coming to Louis' every day since I've been refusing to leave. That night, she sees the suitcase in the hallway. She doesn't say anything at all, but I know she's glad. She's smiling and content, watching us laugh, and I know she knew this was how it was meant to be from that very first day on the train.

She knew from the first conversation she heard us have that it was Louis and Harry and it always would be. When I tell her she was right, she knows what I'm talking about and she simply grins smugly.

People in District 4 have noticed how much time I've been spending with Louis. They think he is even madder than I am. He is beautiful and rich and could do anything he wants with anyone he wants.

I was at dinner, but then I'm with my sister and we're walking along the beach. The crashing of the waves sounds more like home than absolutely anything else, except for Louis' sleepy voice in the morning when he traces his nose down my cheek and tells me he dreamed of beautiful things with me there.

"I have a family, Gemma." I say.

The dry sand is heated, familiar, and soft underneath my bare feet. I stop walking and dig my toes down into it, wondering what it would feel like to be buried underneath it. Soft and warm, I would think. Although a lot of things feel soft and warm until they aren't anymore.

"Of course you do, Haz," Gemma replies, moderately confused and looking at me like I have lost my mind. When I stop to ponder what I've just said, I'm befuddled too, because why would I tell my sister I have a family? Of course I have a family. She is it.

She shakes her head in bewildered humor and then grabs onto my hand.

"Come on! Let's go walk in the water." She demands.

I'm protesting as she pulls on my hand, because I don't want to get in the water. I don't know why, but the thought makes me feel sick.

I dig my heels into the ground.