It was a dark and stormy night, the kind not fit for man nor beast, and yet there Louis was, ploughing through the driving rain.
His hands white-knuckle on the steering wheel as his heart beats in time with the rapid thump-thump-thumping of the windshield wipers, trying to clear the cascading water in a futile effort. Not that it matters. Louis' vision is impaired as much by the water on the glass as it is by the tears welling up in his eyes.
There are no streetlights to guide his way, not out here, wherever here is, and no moon breaking through the thunderous clouds. Even the lightning stabbing at the sodden earth is blocked by the thick canopy of trees that are closed in above him, encircling him, making him feel claustrophobic, like he can't breathe.
He shouldn't be on the road. Not in this weather. But he couldn't stay in the cabin a moment longer, not after his relationship, and with it, his hopes and dreams, had been smashed into a million pieces like the vase he had thrown in a blinding rage when Vincent had shattered his heart.
Louis sobs out an anguished cry as he recalls snippets of Vincent's pitying speech, fresh and painful, cutting through him like a steely blade, wounding his very soul in that way only words can.
I can't do this anymore. I'm not sure I even know what love is. You deserve more. I deserve more.
The life he'd awoken in this morning is like a far flung memory and in stark comparison to this altered state he finds himself in, no longer filled with love and joy and a well laid out plan for the future. Now he has no one and nothing. The one person he thought he could count on for everything had betrayed him and in an instant he'd been stripped of everything.
And so he drives, trying to outrun his heartbreak, to escape, but to where he doesn't even know.
Louis speeds on, barely able to make out the guiding lines on the tar in front of him, the road twisting and turning, black and awash. His headlights reflect off the deluge of raindrops that pound on the roof of his small car; deafening, never ending. He's been driving for too long, he can sense it, unsure if the turn out of the dirt road from the cabin was a mistake, spun around and confused, his brain incapable of determining left from right, up from down as he replays the last four years of his life.
Where had it all gone wrong? Were there signs he should've seen? Had he been too needy, too intense, too fixated on their future and achieving their goals together? He'd thought that's what Vincent had wanted, always so ambitious, so driven. Louis had supported him as he finished his studies and established himself in his career, working shit jobs to make ends meet, being the one Vincent could rely on financially, beside him every step of the way.
Do you even know who you are anymore?
Vincent's question whirls in Louis' head. Does he know? Does he even exist outside of their relationship? Had he really lost himself along the way, so intent on being who he thought Vincent wanted him to be?
But that's what people do, isn't it? They find a partner, someone they grow with and become one; shared ambitions and aspirations, forging a path to an end that meets their goals.
Sure, they'd been an unusual match from the start, an omega and a beta, but Louis had always thought that was what made them special. They actively chose to be with each other, going against societal expectations and norms.
Louis had never much cared for alphas as a rule, always posturing and eyeing him hungrily, like their secondary gender should entitle them to a free pass on courtesy and decency. So Louis had sought out beta partners instead, their calmer demeanor and lack of primal urges more suited to his own disposition.
He's never thought of himself as a traditional omega. He tended to push the boundaries of what was expected and quelled his instinctual side with suppressants, opting for medically controlled heats at a clinic once a year as is commonplace in today's society. Louis has never understood the desire of wanting to spend a heat with an alpha, the thought of being so vulnerable and out of his mind made him sick to the stomach.
A clap of thunder rings out, startling him from his thoughts; more rain, so much rain, pelting and relentless. He wipes the tears from his eyes angrily, harshly, and leans forward squinting through the windshield as though erasing that minuscule distance will make any difference. He just wants to get home, although 'home' is probably a construct he's going to have to reassess. Home has always been a person more than a place to him, somewhere he felt safe and loved. That no longer exists for him.
Maybe I never really loved you at all.
Bile rises in Louis' throat, the bitterness sharp on his tongue. Anger and resentment mixed with sorrow and devastation churn his insides as he fights the urge to scream.
The weekend he'd been preparing for was one filled with romance and joy, so sure that Vincent would propose and they would begin the next chapter of their happily ever after. Tucked away at their secluded cabin in the Greystone Forest, all arranged by Vincent, the only instructions he'd given Louis was what to pack; lingerie. Louis scoffs at the memory, his satin and lace panties suddenly feeling constricting, scratchy, uncomfortable.
When Louis had pulled up in the small clearing in the middle of the forest, Vincent's car had already been parked outside, the weather already beginning to turn sour, almost like it could sense what was about to transpire between the cabin's guests.
Inside the cabin, Vincent had lit the fire, as well as a handful of candles, flower petals strewn over the floor and in a heart shape on bed. The champagne had been popped and Louis was about to take his first sip when Vincent had jumped from the soft, leather couch, pacing in front of the fireplace, fingers carding through his hair, head down, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Louis had thought Vincent was just organizing his thoughts to deliver an emotionally heartfelt speech, to pour his soul out and tell Louis how much he loved him and that he wanted to spend the rest of their lives together.
Louis' heart had leapt in his chest, readying himself for the proposal he believed was coming. He'd even practiced his reactions in the mirror; shock, jubilation, tears of happiness. God. He's been such a fucking fool.
And that is what he'd intended. Had told Louis as much. But instead, Vincent's speech had devolved into an admission that while he'd come to the cabin with every intention of proposing, he'd had an epiphany, right in that moment, that had changed his mind.
I think this is a mistake. I don't think we belong together. I think we're holding each other back.
It seems stupid now that he didn't read the signs, although clearly he didnt know Vincent as well as he'd thought. Perhaps he didn't ever really know him at all.
The processing area of his brain kicks in, recovering from Louis' flight or fight reflex and dragging him back to the present.
What does he do now? What awaits him? Louis has no solid career path, no friends outside of their joint circle, no money of his own, no possessions other than personal ones; a laptop, a phone—both of which are in the small overnight bag next to him—his clothes, some trinkets, and memories that hold no tangible value but feel like a heavy weight in his heart. Anything he'd brought into the relationship has long since been discarded, replaced by their things, better things.
Not that he wants any of the reminders of their relationship. Not the couch they fought over in the shop, disagreeing on leather or fabric. Not the curtains they hung in the dining room that Vincent had never been happy with, or the ridiculously large flat screen in the bedroom that Louis always despised. Not the expensive tiles in the bathroom that Vincent had loved and Louis had hated but they'd bought anyway. And certainly not the bed they laid in night after night as Vincent had apparently fallen out of love with him, or maybe the words he'd spoken tonight were true and there was nothing to lose because he'd never loved him at all.
Louis hits the brakes, hard, swerving wildly as a sharp bend takes him by surprise, the road diving down a steep hill until suddenly, there's no road to be seen, only water, fierce and flowing wildly, waves of darkness.
Time slows, the blood rushing in his ears and then he's sliding, slipping, the car careening toward the edge where the road disappears beneath the raging torrent. "Fuck!" He screams, but it's only physical, not audible, the air forced out and shredding his throat.
Louis turns the wheel sharply, trying desperately in this last moment to change his course, but it's to no avail.
He slams into the overflowing river, the force of the impact pulling his seatbelt taut, but it's of little effect and his chest still hits the steering wheel, punching the air from his lungs. The car lurches and tips and he's flung back into his seat, gasping for breath. The wheel is still gripped in his hands as if he can somehow steer it as he's carried down the river to god only knows where.
There's water all around, everywhere, lapping at the doors, washing up and over the hood and onto the windshield in waves. That's when he feels it, the cold around his feet, his ankles, his calves. Oh god. He's sinking.
Louis tries to unbuckle his belt, fingers trembling as he fumbles, eyes darting around desperately as he searches for an escape. Focus. Shit. He has to focus. The belt finally comes free and he yanks on the door handle, pushing at the door with his feet, but the pressure of the water outside is too great, he sunk too far.
He tries the electric windows, but they don't work, and he realizes that the engine has shut off. The water keeps coming and coming, faster and faster, and now it's up around his waist. He crouches on his seat and starts hitting the windshield, the windows, screaming, begging for a miracle, for someone to hear him, for someone to save him.
The car crashes into something, flinging him across to the passenger seat and bashing his head into the door as it comes to a stop. He's dazed, the searing pain shooting down his neck and back and out to his fingertips. The water is at his chest and he knows this is it, these are his last moments. He cries out but no one can hear him. He's alone.
As he slips into unconsciousness there's a thud on the roof and the sound of breaking glass. With his last breath, his last remaining ounce of energy, he reaches out and a hand grabs his own, and then there is only blackness.