"Can you shut the fuck up !!, English , do you speak English?" Harry groaned sliding his large hand down his face in frustration because of the small blue eyed boy in front of him .
"je veux aller a la maison" Louis sobbed brokenly , shoulders shak...
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si vous me demandez ce qu'est le paradis, je dirais le vin de cerise et le jazz français doux - les pierres et les pommes croquantes. Je dirais que le paradis est les yeux verts et les lèvres rouges boudeuses, le ciel est l'âge et les touches innocentes ... le paradis est Harry Styles.
Louis was older now , older not only in mindset but age - blue eyes less bright but nonetheless thrilling. He slept more than he'd like to admit and writing.. writing since that night became a second life , an addiction like one has with drugs or sex - sometimes the nightmares raced off the page and right into his mind .
A gut wrenching pain stabbing deeply at that organ encased in white bones and blood - he was alive , breathing and dying all same .
Sighing . Closing the note book , closes his eyes and remembers that night it's ranged between cherry wine , cigarettes, rose and many other men , his father , and that night in France - cloned windows and nude bodies entangled together, bitter laughs and acts of significant romance ... love , they were in love .
"You are bleeding-" Harry winces at the boys arm as if such pain could be delivered to him , as if soulmates were further with definition.
"non, ça fait mal." Louis hisses as lips are pressed to his skin , puckering and then releasing-he was drinking his blood - vampire , a fucking vampire .
Harry cried at the boys wounds .
Louis gasped closing his eyes tighter and pressing his fingers to the smooth skin of his arm , pain , he needed pain - pain would erase all this madness but as he began to cry he knew like every other time the memories would rush through him .
The death , the murders , the rapes , the cheating and the love ..., that's the one that hurt him most of all .
"arrêtez!, assez, assez" Louis yells groaning in agony , skin becomes raw , raw and bruising-deserves it , deserves this , deserves to feel .
Pain was elevating. Understandable and coaxing-a Parnell of what dying and living feels like hand to hand . A few moments lacks no time , does not compare to what the others felt .
He sighs opening his eyes and staring at the France lake in front of him ,wind hit against curtains and windows, families laugh as they kick a ball and he can if silent and hardly breathing hear Roses laughter -the laughter he'd have when watching a younger Louis mindlessly dance in that very field .
How bitter sweet is it to know Rose killed himself , an apology would never make up for the marks on 14 year old Louis skin but now (Louis ) wonders if 14 year old him would cry or smile, would he yell or shout in glory ... knows that now (Louis) cries , cries that he allowed so much and allowed such man to leave in a cowardly way .
Emise , Rose wife , lives across the lake -drinks wine and stubbles about in her garden . She's happy , free lifted (admitted it ) the night she came over with that suicide letter - the letter that yelled you were never crazy and he will never hurt you again .
Harry made love to him that night underneath the French moon , wrapped in a thin blanket "You , you amaze me ."
As a car honks he remembers Geoff . The divorce and those eyes - they see each other sometimes in town , walking on France cobble stone , nod and look away - you have ruined my marriage, a marriage I never wanted to begin with - louis finds himself looking away as the man begins to paint , grabs his coffee and hurry's away .
A page flips . Door shuts and blue eyes look over at the standing mirror- tattoo of a butterfly on his left shoulder, a small and unnoticeable amount of chin hair that needs to be shaved - 20 , he's no longer 16 or 14 ... no longer a victim or the young boy who lost both parents .
And then as he stares intently he remembers heartache .
"L-Louis are you there ." Liam rushes The ground was no longer below his feet and he was falling "h-how ." Liam sighs "a deal gone wrong -" silence "damn Louis all he wanted was to go home to you ."
Unbearable. Completely unbearable and it's enough for Louis to hold his chest tightly- write , he' needs to write and as he reaches for the ink pen and his hand ghosts over thin paper he lacks words - write about what , write about who ?
A butterfly flutters into the room . Struggles against a small corner of the wall before giving up on escaping and fluttering to the desk , sits beside the paper and slowly flutters it's beautiful wings .
Write about Harry' Death . Talk about his love and most importantly talk about the person he was .
And as they walked away France never whispered what that stone said , never spoke to the people who passed by simply stood proudly for one day the owner of each stone comes back takes the person who name is written down with them and they laugh at what has now happened in the most future and France says softly "I never told , I am happy for you ."
The butterfly flys away , going back to the France wind .... freeing .
A/N so this is the ending , I'm so sorry for those who wanted more but some comments made me lack inspiration, I really wanted to give up this story because of that but to the ones that were dedicated I thought you guys did not deserve to be left hanging, thank you so much for making yes to heaven something special to me . I will miss this story dearly and the characters.
Any questions feel free to message me . Thank you so much .
