Rain pattered to the ground, tinkling rhythmically onto the slab of sidewalk veined with cracks and weeds. Thunder rumbled overhead, ringing through the sky like a clash of cymbals. Socks squishy under the shoe's black canvas, Louis couldn't help but fleetingly wish he had worn his boots today.
His soaked Converse splashed in the small pools of water collected in potholes as he crossed the street, waving at the driver of a Honda Civic that was friendly enough to stop for him. He walked briskly in the rain, one hand wrapped around a plastic grocery bag that held a small package of sugar, and the other clenched in a fist, shaking from the absolute need. A need, temptation, and craving only the crumpled £20 note in his fist could pinch.
When Louis got to the other side of the street, he slipped behind a vacant flower shop with boarded windows and dying greenery swinging in their planters from the slanting rain. He glanced over his shoulder, wary of the feeling he was being watched. There wasn't anybody there except for a few black birds hiding underneath the buildings' rain gutters.
Standing in the lot, a few yards from the shop's rear exit, a girl was slouched in the rain, dressed in dark skinny jeans and a gray hoodie with the hood popped up. The sopping clothes did little to hide the skeletal figure underneath.
“Victoria?” The figure turned around in the rain, revealing a set of big blue eyes and pale blonde hair beneath the hoodie. Louis walked a couple paces forward until he was in front of the blonde girl, opening up his fist and smoothing out the note. “How much for 20?”
Victoria frowned down at the money, “Is that you have all you have Louis? You can barely get a gram for that much.” She lifted a pale hand to push back the hair falling in her eyes and shoved it back into her pocket.
“Just give me the gram then,” Louis shrugged. He added in urgency, knowing he had only another hour or so until Harry got home, “Look, I don't care how much I get. I just really need to make this fast.
She studied him for a second before she slumped her shoulders and sighed, “Give me the twenty and a fiver, and I'll double your amount.
“Pardon?”
“If you slap in another five, I'll give you two grams,” she repeated,
Louis shook his head in disbelief. Coke was never that cheap, unless the dealer was desperate. “Two grams for 25 quid? Victoria, wh-?”
“Listen, I need the money. I've gotten barely any sales this month and I'm pretty damn hungry. I need to make this deal. 2 for 25, that's my offer,” she said, looking up at him sternly.
Louis dug a little in his pockets and pulled out the grocery receipt along with 7 ones. “Here,” he said, handing her the money.
She counted it and pocketed it before taking out a small clear bag of cocaine and placing it in his hand. Louis grabbed a hold of the bag and turned to leave before pausing mid-step. “Victoria, you shouldn't come down here anymore.”
She rolled her eyes, “It's none of your fucking concern what I do, Louis.” Louis frowned at the bruise on her left cheek and the scar above her brow. It upset him that everything about her was dull and worn; the youth and innocence that once rested behind her pale lashes had hardened by the rough hands that left bruises on her body, the cold jail cells she slept countless nights in, and the slam of the asphalt under her worn shoes. Fuck it if it wasn't his concern.
“I know it isn't, but you do know why there aren't any more dealers around here, right?” he asked, looking into her glassy eyes - watery blue glazed over with a curtain of murky white.
For a second, Louis thought he saw her eyes flash but then she just scoffed and retorted, “I'm not fucking stupid, Louis.”
“Then why do you still come here?”
Her head - too big for her tiny body - snapped up. Her lips quivered as she spoke, “Because I need the bloody money, alright? I know what I'm risking when I come down here, I know it. Everybody talks about Andy and how fucking territorial he is of this place. I know about the other dealers getting gunned down by his fucking henchmen when they come anywhere near here. But you know what? I don't give a shit. Do you know why? Because you, Mrs. Murphy, that bald guy that wears those fucking stupid turtleneck sweaters, and all the people with money in their pockets for the stuff I keep in mine are the only way I can guarantee I get to eat tomorrow.”
“Victoria -” Louis began, the need for the substance now stabled into low background noise.
The thin blonde stepped back from him, bones rattling underneath the chilled rain, “Louis! Look, I appreciate for what you've done for me the last few months, I really fucking do. But you don't get to tell me what I can fucking do, alright?”
“But you could get killed! This is wrong!” Louis shouted, trying one last time to get under the girl's skin.
Victoria threw her head back and laughed coldly, catching rain water in the hollows of her cheeks, “Oh my god! You're such a fucking hypocrite! What do you have in your hand now, Louis, hmm? What do you come to me for? Do you think being locked up in your flat snorting Charlie lines makes you a fucking martyr? There's a reason why it's called The Devil's Drug. That fucking shit will fucking kill you before Andy can. You know that but you need it, don't you?
“You fucking need me. You and I both know you can't go to Andy. So where else are you going to go for your fix, Louis? You have nowhere else to go. There's only me. So quit trying to be like Mother Teresa and pretending you give a shit about what the fuck I do. I don't need your fucking sympathy.”
Stunned by her words, Louis didn't make any attempt to stop her when she jogged off, disappearing underneath a sheet of rain.
He was once again alone, with just the brewing storm overhead as company. 'You're such a hypocrite.' He stared down at the cobbled ground below him, watching little insects struggle to swim in the water that thinly washed over the surface. Their little screams went unheard as a crackle of thunder rolled above, startling the 22 year old. He swung his rucksack off his back to pack up the sugar and the cocaine, before readjusting it back onto his shoulders.
The flat he and Harry shared was a little over seven blocks away, so he began the slow tread down the sidewalk. He shoved his hands in his pockets, casting his head down, only occasionally looking up to look at the display cases of shops and boutiques.
He looked back at his altered portrait on the glass, watching as raindrops cut through the glass, carving out watery lines in the valleys under his eyes. In the window his face was blurred; its entirety nearly indistinguishable. A bead of pulsing rain trickled down his reflection's cheek, sliding down the glass's cold surface until it hit the edge of the window, where it sank into the sill's cracks. Oh, the irony of life.
Shoulders hunched and clothes cold and damp, Louis continued on his trek down the sidewalk. Ghosts of pedestrians brushed past him, all rushing to find shelter from the heavy downpour. Though the droned noise of the pellets of water washing over buildings and cars muted out everything else in his ears, the need for the drug in his bag kept tapping at the back of his skull, reminding him that it was still there. It urged him forward. He was now practically jogging to the flat only a few more blocks away.
He had to get to the flat fast so he could have time to do a few lines and shower before Harry got home. The thought of Harry seeing him like that, coked up and looking pathetic with the white powder smudged under his nose, made Louis nauseous. He couldn't handle the look of disappointment in the green eyes he had grown to love more and more with each day that passed. He. . . He would die trying to keep the candle burning in the back of those eyes lit if that's what it took. It's not like he had much to live for anyway.
When he came across the multistory red-bricked building with the little flower tree in front, he turned and walked up to the building. Lightning flashed overhead as Louis threw the door open to the lobby. As he strode across the lobby that smelled strongly of lavender and cigars, he pulled out his keys from his wet pockets. He punched the button branded with the number 5 when he got in the lift, tapping his leg in anticipation. When it reached his floor and the doors slid open, Louis made his way to the door at the end of the narrow, musty annex. There was a window centered on the intersecting wall, sparing that end of the hall with sunny light only when the weather was nice.
Today, the light that filtered through the glass pane was a weak, watery gray, highlighting the cobwebs weaved in the crooks and shadowy corners of the barren hallway. He glanced outside and briefly hoped Harry wasn't caught in the storm. A sudden bang from the neighbors next door caused him to flinch, and when the noise ceased, he walked back over to his door with the glinting '6F' placed at the top.
With shaking hands, he lifted his key and jammed it into the door, unlocking and swinging it open. He cast a long look over the still flat, before turning to lock the door and toeing off his wet shoes. Taking a quick glance at the clock on the far wall, he rushed over to the two big windows that overlooked the small shops below. Louis drew the heavy curtains over the glass, cutting off any light that had once veiled the faded, flowery wallpaper. Darkness now took its residence, shadows that weren't there before now creeping out from their caves in the nooks and crannies of the small living room.
There's a tap, tap, tap at the back of his skull. Everything was blurred at the edges, everything zeroed in on that little baggie. He smothered his rationality, blindfolded it, and tucked it away in the darkest corner of his mind. It watched helplessly as his own hands, hands that felt too heavy to be his, vaulted him inside the bathroom. Now in the safe confines of the small room, where only the frail light of a bare light bulb could reach him, did his anxiety begin to crumble. Nothing mattered; nothing else fucking mattered, except for the sound of Louis' deft fingers crinkling the plastic.
He cleared the counter with a swipe, carelessly discarding its contents to the ground. Usually Louis would've been furious at the thought of having to clean up the flecks of toothpaste off the ground, but now, with his nerves jittery and stomach clenching, he couldn't have a lesser care. With practiced movement, he spilled a narrow line onto the white, linoleum counter. He reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet to slip out his bank card to cut up the powder. It proved to be quite a task, taken into consideration how hard his hands were shaking. He meticulously lined grain by grain, cutting and pushing the powder until it lay out nicely in front of him.
When he ducked down and inhaled, it rushed into his system in a frenzied bliss. It was like his whole body sighed in relief, smothering all the cares and secrets he kept locked in the dark, hidden crevices of his consciousness. With each snort of the white powder, the tension in his muscles and the aching in his brittle bones uncoiled until they felt languid. He shed his skin – the pathetic disguise he kept over his body to hide all his flaws – and let out his demons.
The tiny crystals raced through his bloodstream, coating his lungs and shutting down his brain. His eyes were half lidded and pupils blown; the corners of his mouth tucked upward in a little smile. Cut, line. Cut, line. With each inhale, he felt the gears of his clockwork brain slow down to rustic grates. Snip, snip, snip. One by one his strings were cut and then he was hovering in an endless space of euphoria.
He sunk down until he felt the cold tile floor underneath his damp jeans and felt the press of the wall against the back of his skull. He tipped his head against the wall, staring up at nothing. And that was all right, because he liked nothing. Nothing was safe. Nothing didn't consist of everything, and everything was a problem. Seriously, fuck everything.
The bathroom light's glow stretched over his hands, pale in his lap from the wind and rain he had to endure minutes ago. He flipped his wrist and traced the old scars that scarred the surface of his skin. They were pearly under the light and smooth under his shivery fingertips. He hummed quietly to himself, veins still pumping and heart still frantically beating from the drugs in his system.
He could feel the fizzled darkness all around him. It fought timidly against the light's weak presence in the room. Shadows reached out to touch him, getting closer and closer as the small, rectangular window placed high up on the bathroom wall grew dimmer from the storm outside. He used to be afraid of the shadows, but now he seemed to welcome them. He was grateful for them because at least somebody else knew about his secret. It just wasn't his alone.
The drip of the sink echoed loudly in his ears. His lungs dragged in another dose of stale air. His mind was thrumming, wanting to do everything and nothing all at once. Tap, tap, tapping against his floor was his foot. Like his demons and the shadows on the wall, he was restless.
In the corner of his eye, Louis noticed Harry's beanie on the floor. Harry had pulled it over his ears when they were stepping out the door. “Can't have my Lou-Lou getting sick again,” he had said. The memory faulted Louis' heart for a bit. But then again, every memory he had of the curly-haired lad did. The coke dulled it out enough now, though.
Louis reached over and grabbed the beanie. He rested it in his lap and looked down at it, letting his fingertips familiarize themselves with its texture. Letting out a breathy laugh, he wondered why the universe was so fucked up. Why it was so intent on ruining his life.
Harry was in love. When the words had escaped the angel's mouth back at Ed's, they had ripped out the bottom of Louis' stomach and spilled everything out on the floor.
And it's like; he's not sure why the thought of Harry with somebody hurt so much. Louis guessed for the longest time that he would be fine with the idea of just being mates with the angel. After all, he doesn't know Harry's sexuality. Harry hadn't brought one single person to the flat or picked someone up at the bar when Louis and the boys go for a few drinks. And maybe, maybe why Louis had felt so torn about the question was because he somehow got it in his head that Harry didn't want anybody. That Harry had Louis, and that was enough.
So he had tiptoed around his mess on the floor and had left the apartment with a mumbled promise and an urgency to get that artificial high that only came from a toxic mixture of private corners and dirty money. Because he knew. He just fucking knew that Harry hadn't meant him. No one could ever love him, at least not in that context. No matter how many times Zayn would tell him when they got drunk together and talked about life and love and all that sentimental shit.
Harry was in love with someone else, and that hurt. But the cocaine could make him forget that. For years, it had acted like a temporary fortress from everything in Louis' life. Six years ago it sheltered him from the verbal torments from his classmates. Three years ago it made the hunger in his belly go away. Today it sheltered him from his own heart.
When a crack of thunder shook the flat, Louis got to his feet and decided to keep his hands busy while the drug was still in effect. Crack made him restless, so he figured he could bathe Cece and tidy the kitchen before Harry came back. It would at least make him feel more useful. So with that, he gathered up his demons and left the safe bathroom.
Though the flat was not as nearly as small as the one they had lived in before, it wasn't all too big. The kitchen and living room were all one room, split in the center by the kitchen counter on one side and the refrigerator on the other. The sink was drippy, the cupboards creaked, and the utensil drawer had a missing knob, but Harry had somehow managed to liven the kitchen up.
Frilly curtains that matched Harry's cooking apron framed the kitchen window and a pair of red oven mitts hung from the oven door's handle. His shiny cookware covered most of the counter space, since he had deemed himself official cook after Louis nearly lit the kitchen on fire a month ago. To Louis' credit though, Harry shouldn't have been walking around the flat with nothing but tight boxers while he's trying to make a fry-up. His body was a fire hazard. Scratch that, a hazard. He forgot to mention the incident last week when he nearly ran into the door in his haste to leave the bathroom, the cackle of a very naked, very wet angel left ringing in his ears.
Louis set to work on doing the small mountain of dishes in the sink and wiped down the two person dining table that was shoved under the large kitchen window. He rearranged the refrigerator magnets out of boredom and swept the floor. Once he had finally hunted down Cece, he filled the bath a few inches and dodged her flailing paws as he shampooed her. See, this is why Harry did these things. It was like he had some telepathic bond with the cat. Louis had seen it.
One time he had been sitting on the couch, fiddling with his guitar while Harry sat on the other side watching the evening news when Cece had walked into the room, hopped up on the couch, and head-butted Harry's arm. The angel had taken just one glance down at the cat before getting up to head into the kitchen, with Cece at his feet. Even when Harry managed to wrestle the cat into the bath, Cece would hardly put up a fight whenever her tail touched the water. Louis suspects it had something to do with the soft little coos he gives the cat and the way his large, gentle hands scratch her fur. Or maybe it was the dimples. No one, not even his cat, could resist the dimples.
When she had finally squirmed out of the bath, dripping wet and furious, Louis had managed to get away with only a few scratches along his forearms with minimal bleeding. He had been victorious.
Once all the orange fur was down the drain, Louis shrugged out of his clothes and without waiting for the water heater to warm up, hopped in the shower. He let the chilly spray seep over his bones and too-tight skin. He scrubbed his skin with Harry's body wash and used his shampoo because a) he didn't feel like getting his from under the sink and b) it smelled like strawberries and happiness and Harry so that was always good. It was good.
Slowly, the effects of the drug started to wear off, sliding down the drain along with the soap suds. As much as he wanted to do a few more lines, just so he could chase that high and stay up in the clouds just a little longer, he knew he couldn't. Harry would be home soon.
Post-high always sucked for Louis, especially when he had to gather up his demons and zip them back up in his hideous disguise.
He stepped down onto the bathroom rug and padded over to the small mirror hanging in the center of wall. Thinking about Harry's perfect body (but not naked because he really didn't feel like sporting a boner OK), he felt every single insecurity he had about himself. He had thick thighs, rounded shoulders, tiny frame, and a small but stubborn pinch of fat on his lower abdomen. Niall had always told him he loved how soft he was, how he loved that he could fit Louis in his pocket, but Louis always ducked his head down in shame.
One thing he was actually proud of though was his tattoo. On his left inner bicep was the 'OOPS!' tattoo he had gotten at Zayn's birthday party. Interestingly, Harry had been sloshed as well and had woken up with a tattoo on his right inner bicep reading 'HI!’
They had been drunk. They had been reckless. They had given each other matching tattoos. They had both laughed about it in the morning, when their hangovers had passed and their breath didn't reek of alcohol and pizza.
He toweled off and pulled Harry's beanie over his damp hair. Wandering into the flat buck-naked and wearing only a beanie, Louis shuffled into his bedroom and dressed in some sweats and a cozy sweater. He didn't bother pulling on any boxers because fuck that, he liked his manly bits to roam wild and free (though not as free as Harry when he crawls out of bed in the morning with nothing on but his socks).
The cocaine was stashed in its hiding place and the bathroom counter wiped clean of the tiny crystals. When he was sure all the evidence was hidden and trashed, Louis opened up the curtains to let some light back in and scooped up Cece as he plopped down on the couch. Most of the flat was submerged in a dark-slate of light, so he reached over and pulled the chain of the tiny lamp beside the couch's armrest. The lamp's light played with the shadows on the wall and the thunder clapped in the distance.
Now that Louis had gotten his much needed fix, he felt better. Still a bit fuzzy at the edges, but good. It would be enough for him for now.
He flicked on the telly, settled on some random show about teen moms, and curled against the couch's side. Cece mewed obnoxiously in his lap, still a bit moody and damp from her shower. “Don't be like that,” he spoke softly to her, scratching under her chin. She attempted to get free but then stopped when she knew her feeble struggles where helpless against the barricade Louis' arms created. “Such a pretty girl,” Louis cooed. When he scratched that spot behind her ears, she tilted her head and purred like a lion.
“You and Harry are exactly the same,” Louis snorted. Sometimes in the morning or when they were both lazing around on the couch, Harry would plop his head in Louis' lap and ask Louis to scratch his head. Louis would always happily comply and tangle his fingers in Harry's curls. Usually, he'd let his nails scrape the spots behind Harry's ears, secretly admiring the way the angel's eyes would always drift closed and the tiny keens that would escape his mouth. Those were the kind of moments Louis admired the most.
He admired everything about Harry. He admired how in the mornings he'd emerge from the room to find his record player on and Harry dancing around the kitchen, singing rasp into the spatula while the eggs simmered in the skillet. He admired how gangly and uncoordinated Harry was when presented with a game of twister, but graceful and proud when he walked under the canopy of trees in the park. He admired how the sun would filter through the window and catch on his hair and lashes, washing over his features in molten gold. He admired how Harry always looked on the bright side of the things, even when he came home after a long shift at Nick's and a trunk-load of groceries. He admired how every night they always ended up sleeping in the same bed even though they shared separate rooms. He admired how Harry loved to be cuddled and coddled, and was always eager to reflect the gesture when Louis was sick or feeling down.
Louis froze. Sitting there, with Cece vibrating in his lap and the hum of the thermostat harmonizing with the rain tapping against the window, he realized he missed Harry. He had been with him not even four hours ago and already he missed the angel's company.
The flat was too lonely, too quiet, without him. Even when Harry reading silently in the nook by the window while Louis scribbled some lyrics on paper, he still managed to fill the void with his little noises. The in and out of his breathing, the rustle of his clothes when he shifted to find a more comfortable position, the slight hitches in his breath when he read something that fascinated him or entertained him. Louis had memorized all those little noises because they reminded him that he wasn't alone. It was Harry's little way of showing him that he was right there.
Louis missed Harry every minute of the day when he wasn't with him. Everywhere he looked, everywhere he went, there was something there to remind him of green eyes and chestnut curls. Every song on the radio, every time he would shuffle through his music library and one of those indie songs Harry had been sneaking in there would play, every word from a lyric Harry liked, reminded him of the cheeky lad.
He wasn't stupid. He knew what his heart was trying to tell him. He knew why he missed Harry in all hours of the day and he knew why he constantly thought about him. He's had crushes before so this wasn't something totally new.
But Harry wasn't just another crush. Everything with Harry was unique and secure and infectious in a way that it swept through Louis' being and curdled his insides. Harry had been the only one in Louis' life to ever make him feel happy and nauseated all at once. As far as he could tell, Harry could part the clouds if he wanted to. But Harry was just one of those people who appreciated the rain and the clouds and the chill rolling through the streets. Harry was everything good wrapped up in a human cocoon.
Yeah, Louis wanted him. He wanted him all to himself and he wanted him in the day and he wanted him in the evening. He wanted him everywhere and he wanted him with every single bone in his body. He wanted him in more ways than one, but he could only have him to an extent. He could have him as a friend but nothing more. He could take his touches and smiles and store them all up in his heart, but he couldn't let them overshadow the scars and bruises that had once been in their place.
Harry has found somebody, and it was only a matter of time before he shed his skin and moved on with his life. He'd leave someday because everyone in Louis' life did. No one stayed long enough after they'd seen how much of a mess he was, how broken beyond repair he was. Why should Harry be no exception?
Louis was condoned to a life of solitary, and he'd long ago accepted that.
x
author's note: i would really like your feedback on this chapter guys. it would help a lot. the next chapter is already half done so that one will not take long to be up. I'm thinking within 1 - 2 weeks ? thank you all so much for everything you guys are seriously amazing. Vote, Comment, Fan, whatever! I just really hope you enjoyed this chapter :)