Shift ☆ Louis Partridge

22 | Alone

☆

[y/n]

_

I CAN'T BEAR IT ANYMORE.

Living in my room, the curtains drawn and my carpet stained with tears—it was like living in Hell. I didn't want to look out the window, because I'd either see the stars or the sun looming over me like a reaper of misery, and I knew what thoughts came with it.

Somewhere out there in London, there's a boy who's forgotten my name.

Anger, sadness, despair, heartbreak, no, no, no, no, it's never enough to describe the pain I'm feeling. I want to tear the hurt from my soul like papers in a book, because I'd rather lie in pieces than to pretend I was ever fine in the first place.

Stumbling over to my desk in the dark of my room, I threw open my drawer, taking out the notebook—but what hurt me most was opening the first page.

The Cheeky page was still there.

That meant Louis was never here.

He was never here.

"I hate you," I cried, flipping through the pages, "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you."

I didn't know if I was saying that to myself or to the world I had created in my mind. There was no way to ever know the truth, but I knew the fault laid on my shoulders in whatever way it went.

My eyes scanned the pages of the notebook, and I let my heart cave in.

What a silly little world....

No, none of that was real.

"I don't know, Harold," he teased, his warm breath tickling my nose, "she looks pretty cute to me."

Stop. Just stop.

"I taught myself to swim the day you fell..."

I can't breath through my tears, hitting the ink on the page and ruining the words.

"Are you going to tell me your name?"

"So you are suggesting it's a date."

"I wasn't crying because you hurt me," he said, pushing a strand of hair out of his face, "I was crying because I hurt you."

All the words I wrote on a page, all the stories and dreams? They were really just visions that would soon turn into haunting nightmares the second I opened my eyes. I shifted with the knowledge that it would end, and it was my stupidity that got me in the long-run.

Staring at my notebook one last time, I let my heart break its final piece.

And then I began to tear it apart.

"I think you'd make a great Romeo,"I smiled, "wouldn't you think?"

Gone.

"Oh hello," the boy grinned, "fallen for me already?"

Ruined.

I ripped out every single inked page, making sure the words were all unreadable by the time they lay on the floor of my room. I was soon laying in a pile of white snow—tainted with written falsehoods.

But as I held the last page in my hands, I read the last sentence I'd ever see of my scripts.

"Goodbye, Darling."

I didn't want to say goodbye.

Goodbye.

I just want to hold him.

Darling.

One last time.

Goodbye, Darling.

All I could feel was an empty pain. I broke my promise. I said I'd stay, but I didn't—I couldn't, and what made it worse was feeling alone. It wasn't the fact that I had lost him, it was knowing that he had lost me too.

And somewhere, in another reality, Louis is also alone.

Goodbye, Darling.

I mean it this time.