Solace

Chapter Nine

❝That's the problem with cutting. Once you start, you can't stop. It's addicting, cutting is my drug. It serves its purpose perfectly. Once I cut, I forget about everything that has been wrong. All that is left is my concentration on my cut. I forget about everything but the pain. Pain has become my world.❞

Louis cut. Never too deep, never enough to die. But enough to feel the pain. Enough to feel the scream inside. What Louis always told himself was that real cutters didn’t cut for attention or for the pain, real cutters cut for the satisfaction of being in control something, at least for once.

Wrist to blade, blade to wrist, the crimson blood poured out like the tears had on his cheeks just five minutes before. He couldn't keep himself away from the blade. It was an addiction. He felt confused, he cried. And then he cut. That's what he was used to. He didn't even think twice. It was as if an image of a wrist popped into his head and the next second, he had it between his fingertips.

*

Louis woke up, a slight pain in his left hand. With the small lamp providing enough light to make out where everything out, he saw the dried blood on his arm, but barely managed to look at it for more than two seconds because his eyes were so sore. He couldn't remember if he cried even more after he cut, or when he finally dropped the blade, his memory went blank.

Sitting up on his bed, he began to ponder about the reason behind this time. Surely, there must have been a reason, or that's what he told himself. There definitely was a reason.

And that reason was definitely Harry. Harry and his damn lips on Louis' cheek. He could still feel that tingling feeling but chose to ignore it to resist the urge to cut again. Because from the movies Louis saw, no two boys kissed their cheeks. No, not right, not one bit.

But there were gay people. Louis never classed himself as anything because he never thought about it. He knew that some women were incredibly sexy, for example, why else would he have both Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis posters on his wall, right above his bed? Because he found them attractive, right?

It wasn't even a matter of choice really, boys liked girls, girls liked boys, or so everyone has been taught since a young age. That way, they can reproduce and bring more humans into this world. But what Louis never thought about was that people might love each other or even like each other for who they were and not their gender. 

The thoughts took over his head and the pain hid behind all the new stuff that Louis was thinking about. Without knowing, Louis placed himself in a laying position and closed his eyes, still thinking about Harry and that damn stupid kiss on the cheek that made Louis all confused and annoyed. Harry wasn't making his condition any better; he came to the institute to get help and not to get beaten up by his own thoughts, right?

"Faggot." 

Hit in the stomach.

"Pointless."

Slapped across the cheek.

"Worthless." 

Punched in the jaw.

"Die."

A bullet right in the heart and a not-so-curly haired lad shouting at the top of his lungs while the smaller, fragile victim sat in the corner, a pool of blood surrounding him. He wasn't crying. He wasn't fighting. He wasn't breathing.

Because what could be worse than betrayal? That one person whom you started to trust, throw those words at you? Do those things to you?

"Finally. You're dead." Were the last words Louis heard before his eyes snapped open and coughed, his body going into some sort of an attack for a few seconds.