Being Normal Sucks (Louis Tomlinson FanFiction)

Chapter 53~ Room 718

"Just be ready by Tuesday," he insisted, and I could practically see him shaking his head at me. I swear I would have ripped his head off if he was sitting right next to me. I didn't even get a chance to give a snarky reply, because he hung up after the words. With a frustrated groan, I threw my head back against the seat and then dragged my hand down my face.

The cab stopped, and my previously closed eyes snapped open to see if we were really at the destination. Traffic must have let up when I had closed my eyes because, yes, we were right outside the building, and the cabby was rustling about in his seat. I bounced in my own seat and opened my wallet. I didn't really care about how much I gave him; I just shoved the first one hundred note that I touched and passed it to him. He let out a surprised little gasp and went to protest, but I waved him off and got out of the cab while pulling my luggage out as well.

You know in the movies where someone finally gets to their destination, and they stare up at the place for a really long moment while drawing the sight in. Yeah, that was quite frankly a waste of time. The faster I got to that hotel room, the better. So, I skipped the sentimentality of looking at the building that I had spent a year in and dashed through the front doors instead. It was directly to the lift for me, and a few people glanced at me and one girl even recognized me. I didn't stop for anything, though; I just got in the lift and pressed the button for floor seven.

The lift music started to play a familiar tune, and I hummed it out as my foot tapped on the ground rapidly. If someone else had been in the lift with me they might have been amused by the sight of me. I was dressed in loose clothing with an impossibly wide smile gracing my lips. My eyes were trained on the number at the top of the lift, and while it raised my heart beat grew faster. The ding that came along when I finally reached the floor was one of the best sounds that I had ever heard, and I stumbled out of the lift only to run right into a cart piled up with food.

The cart shook for a moment, and the hotel worker behind it glared at me. I paused to look at him before my mouth gaped a little. "Watch where you're going, Lewis," the guy bit out the words, and I wondered if he even was aware of what he had just said or if he actually did recognize me from a magazine or something. I didn't get the chance to ask him or correct him, though; he pushed the cart into the lift and was gone before I could even fully process it all. I had just knocked into Ryan Smith. His attitude sure hadn't changed.

Shaking off that little run in, I pulled my suitcase along with me until I reached the door with the number '718' on it. Taking in a very deep breath, I had to prepare myself. She would remember; she had to. Why else would she be in the exact same room? However, my mind was bringing up all of the if's of the situation, and it made me feel a little queasy. If she didn't remember... what would I do? Would I play it off and try to find a way to get closer to her until things were like how they used to be? I didn't know if I could handle that.

Pushing the thoughts from my head, I raised my hand and rapped on the door of the hotel room. There was shuffling from inside of the room, and then a voice rang out. It was a voice so divine that I was surprised that I was even able to think a coherent thought when I heard it. It had been absent for months in this bitter sweet wake up in the real reality, and hearing it again was like hearing an angel sing. I don't even care if I was an absolute sap thinking about how perfect it was; it was damn amazing.

"For the last fucking time, Ryan, I am not going to sleep with you," she groaned out loudly with frustration seeping through her words. The door swung open right after she had said the words and there was a pissed off look on her face that I found wonderfully adorable. Just seeing her knocked the breath out of me for a second, and I took in the sight as if she was that destination in a movie. The freckles, the hair, the glasses that were slipping down the bridge of her nose just a little bit; it was exactly how I had remembered. The dye that had made her hair darker when I had first met her in New York must have faded from her hair. And there was one thing, one little thing that I let my eyes focus on, the cute little scar by her eye that that horrible squirrel had given her when she was ten. Yes, it was all the same.