Together (Larry Stylinson) ✅

Decisions

Louis' Point of View

After Zayn left, I pretty much spent the rest of the day crying in my bed. I felt so fucking stupid for inviting him here after all this time, and even more stupid for insulting him and scaring him so badly that he left. It didn't help that I still felt disgusting from eating the peanut butter toast, and that a small part of me, deep down -- very, very deep down -- sort of missed Harry's company. 

I was such a hot fucking mess.

I ended up crying so long and so hard that it made me exhausted, and I fell asleep even though it was only something like 6pm. I woke up hours later at 2 in the morning, my face puffy and tiny red dots under my eyes where I broke blood vessels. A few minutes later, as I inspected them in the bathroom mirror, I resisted the urge to look at the toilet. It would just trigger me more and I didn't want that. 

Instead, I watched my face in the tiny ceramic sink, wiped it dry with a towel and poured myself a glass of water. If I couldn't eat, the least I could do was stay hydrated, right? Taking the water with me, I headed to the kitchen and took a seat, wincing as I looked at the empty one next to me where Zayn had been sitting only a few hours ago. A few hours before I scared him away.... 

I tried to repress the memory of the day's events as I sipped the water, instead focusing on the cool liquid sliding down my battered throat. In the silent apartment with nothing else to think about, I could suddenly feel how raw it was, how badly it burned. I guess I had been on pain meds in the hospital. Or maybe I was just too anxious to notice it. But now I did, and it was more uncomfortable than I'd like to admit. 

I began to check my phone as I continued sipping on the water. I didn't have many notifications, but that wasn't a shock. I hardly spoke to anyone anymore, and it was my fault. It was me, it was always me. I was the one who pushed them all away. Honestly, I was probably even the one who pushed Harry away.....

Sighing, I opened my Whatsapp and noticed I actually did have a few messages, they were just taking a while to load. Two were from my sister, Fizzy. "How are you Lou? We miss you! xoxo" she wrote. That was from a few days ago. I started to feel bad because I had been on my phone the whole time, but I hadn't seen it. Just another example of me fucking up. 

The next text was from today -- well yesterday -- and it read: "haven't heard from you! Please let us know how things are going. Love you :)" I quickly typed her back: "I'm good, Fiz. Thanks for reaching out. Hit a rough patch at work but all will be well soon. How are you?"

I snorted as I wrote it. Rough patch was a fucking understatement. Speaking of which, I should probably get on that whole job application thing so I don't get kicked out of my apartment for not paying rent. I hopped out of my chair and went to fetch my laptop, quickly returning it to the kitchen table and powering it up. 

As I sat staring at the blank screen of my way-too-old PC, I started to feel a strange feeling growing in the pit of my stomach. It started out small, almost imperceptible. But as I began to log onto my computer and open a new tab, it became more and more intense. It was like pain -- but not entirely pain. It was also a weird kind of sinking feeling. 

Suddenly, in the midst of the weird sensation, I heard a noise, and nearly jumped, thinking someone was breaking into my apartment or something. But that's when I realized it was coming from me.

Holy fuck. It was hunger. 

I couldn't even remember the last time I was really, truly hungry. I denied my body food for so long that my hunger cues were pretty much nonexistence, and I just ignored any discomfort or sensation I could still feel. Once and a while I would get these really bad sharp cramps that would send me doubling over in pain. But most times my stomach just felt numb, and I didn't think much of it.

I remember a few years ago thinking how insane it was that someone could lose the feeling of hunger. "How is that even possible?" I remember asking Zayn after finding out about the concept during one of Harry's doctor's appointments. But now it was happening to me. Fuck.

I guess eating normally for a week with that feeding tube had put my body on a schedule, and now it was sort of starting to become healthy again. And that should be a good thing , right? Wrong. In theory, yes. I should be really happy. I should be ecstatic. But in reality, I just couldn't handle it -- and I became more overwhelmed with every second that passed, with the weird unfamiliar hungry feeling creeping around in my stomach. 

Another reason I was feeling weird about this was because, well, food. And eating. I didn't want to fucking eat. Like that was the whole reason I was in this mess. And hunger was just going make it harder to starve, which was good-- in theory! But bad for me mentally. Because every time I skipped a meal or lost a pound, I felt better. I felt stronger. I felt more in control. I couldn't lose that high... because if I did, I would just come crashing down into a world of merciless pain. 

But I had already done that, hadn't I? I was already in that world of pain. I was dying for God's sake. So I had to fucking push past this and start eating again, even if it felt like the hardest thing in the world. 

"You don't have to start eating tons and tons of food right away. Start small. As much as you can handle. Anything is progress," I remember telling Harry one day when he was just starting out with recovery. He had been crying over an orange, saying it was too big and had too many calories. I couldn't see why the orange was so upsetting to him then, but I could now. It was never about the actual food. 

But the advice I had given to Harry that day was right. Start small. And I had already started with the toast. I got the ball rolling. I just had to keep going. Taking a deep breath, I stood up and began to fiddle around through the pantry. I hardly had any food, partially because I hadn't been home for a while, but mostly because I never really kept much food around.

After going through a few cabinets, I finally found some Cliff Bars, another result of my futile attempt to get my diet back on track a few months ago. They were chocolate chip flavored, which used to be my favorite. I turned over the nutrition label, though it didn't really help since I had memorized everything, and pulled a bar out of the box. Then, I set it on the table and prepared myself for the next painful half hour it would take for me to get the bar down. 

Before I even opened the wrapper, my phone buzzed and I got a text. It was 3am at this point, so I was wondering who the fuck would be texting. I figured it was Fizzy because she was in a different time zone and it was morning there. But it wasn't her.

It was Harry.

"Hey. Can you meet tomorrow at 5pm? Dave's Coffee in West Village. Really need to talk," I read the text over a few times, looking for spelling errors. There were none, but I was definitely not convinced he was sober. Shaking my head, I began to type a reply. A simple yes or no answer had never been so hard. 

Who knows how long I sat there thinking, contemplating if Harry deserved a second chance -- a millionth chance really. Or who knew what he even wanted to talk about in the first place. As I thought about Harry, the words of Zayn rang in my head, filling me with guilt.

"And honestly, I think the person who can help you the best is... well...."

Fuck it. Just fuck it. He was right. I should ask Harry for help. Even though the thought of putting my trust in him for anything terrified me. Even though I hated him. Even though I loved him.

Hands shaking, I gripped my phone and typed out a text. "Okay. I need to talk too." Then I tossed my phone on the counter, tears flowing as I began to tackle the granola bar.