Beautiful Nightmares (Larry Stylinson)

Chapter 1

LOUIS’ P.O.V

Whistling one of the latest catchy tunes on the radio through my pursed lips, I make my way down the penthouse level of the hotel’s corridor. I toss my phone up and catch it with every step I take, now turning to humming the popular yet already annoying song.

When I reach room 265 – the one I share with Harry – I pull my rectangular room key out of my back pocket and shove it in the slot. Still humming as the lock clicks open, I push open the door and I’m welcomed by the disorganized hotel room. Mine and Harry’s clothes are strewn over the floor in random spots, our hair brushes and products spilling messily on a dresser, my collection of TOMS are pilled on top of one another sky high in the far corner and Harry’s colognes are carelessly placed on the kitchenette countertops.

“Honey I’m home!” I holler in an overdramatic and falsetto voice, placing the bags of items to do with the tour down, that Paul had given me for Harry and I.

Normally Harry would yell something equally cheesy back, but I’m only welcomed by a prolonged silence.

“Harry? Where are you?” I ask, but again, I’m met with no answer.

Before I left to go take the bags off of Paul – who was patiently waiting for me – Harry had been sleeping; rather restlessly I might add. Harry had made no move yesterday to talk to me about going out on the town this morning, but who knows – that’s Harry for you. He probably met some girl while we were at the bar last night and decided to take her out for a breakfast date; a typical charming Harry move. But nevertheless, I still feel a little overprotective of him as he’s the youngest and the closest of the lads to me. We always tell each other where we’re going, even if it’s as simple as visiting the small Mc Donald’s across the street.

I pick up my I phone from where I had previously placed it on the kitchenette’s marble countertops and type in the pass code. It unlocks with a barely audible click and opens to my latest conversation with Eleanor.

We were going through a bit of a rough patch, as she didn’t like how I was going out to all these bars with the lads. She’s just being too overprotective after I got drunk that one time and acted like a right git. I’ve been more responsible lately, only having two or three drinks after that mistake, so I don’t see why she should be concerned. If anything, she should be worried about Niall getting too drunk and people taking embarrassing pictures of him and his friends. No offense to him, but he’s had it happen the most.

Shaking my head as if to clear the argument, I exit the conversation with Eleanor and tap on the contact listed as Hazza.

Blue (Louis): Where have you disappeared off to Hazza?

I press the send button and the bar on the top stretches until white fills the entire rod.

I hear a muffled ‘ding’ that sounds from Harry’s bedside table. I tread on the elegant carpet with gold swirls over to the dark hardwood nightstand. Tossing Harry’s Ramones shirt off of the salt and pepper marble surface, I spot his I phone resting on the table. It’s lit up with my message that I had sent two seconds ago.

I furrow my brow in confusion. Harry never goes anywhere without his phone; the lads and I even tease him about the phone getting attached to his hand because he’s always holding onto it. A swirling sensation starts up in the pit of my stomach, sending worry throughout my entire body. Something has happened to Harry.

HARRY’S P.O.V

Sweat pours down my pale forehead and my cheeks are flushed a bright pink as I pull my body upwards once again, using my abdominal muscles to complete the sit-up. I relax the tense muscles below my stomach and lay my back flat on the ground. Making sure my arms are still crossed securely over my chest, I repeat the rep another time. I keep doing this until my abs are sore and shaking with fatigue. Only then do I push myself to do ten more repetitions of the crunches.

I blow out my breath in a rush from my pursed lips, as I finally let my body collapse onto the floor, face side up. I had gone to the gym soon after being startled awake by the haunting nightmare of Louis dying in the ship’s cabin. Not only are these terrifying dreams realistic, I can remember them vividly. Normally you forget most of your dreams when you wake up, but these nightmares stick onto me like glue. When I broke up with Caroline, I had gone to the gym often to block out the voices in my head and the sadness that comes along with every conclusion of a romantic relationship. So I figured that I would chase away the horrible dreams by working out, but so far it isn’t helping.

I sigh, closing my eyes while crossing my arms beneath my head.

The boy howls with the wind, his mouth spread wide open in anger. Pounding his fists into the red soil, he screams out his frustration. The boy turns into an animal of rage, destructing anything and everything in his path. He rips out the plants, begging them to feel his pain; he throws rocks at the trees, bellowing at them to understand his aching.

 

He wails higher and louder than the wind, blaming everyone for his suffering. But in truth, deep down in his soul, the boy knows that it’s his fault. In honor of this, the boy stops his fit. He quiets down until the only thing he can hear is the wind whistling in his ears and the waves crashing against the sharp rocks.

 

The boy walks over to the edge, his brown curly hair blowing straight in the ocean’s strong breeze. Looking down at the jagged black rocks he makes his decision. Taking a step backwards for momentum, the boy launches himself off of the edge of the cliff, his green orbs shining with the last glimmer of life.

 

I jerk awake from the daydream, banging my head painfully on the tiled floor of the gym. My heart is galloping, racing with an extremely fast pace. I struggle to control my breaths, which have become ragged and uneven. I gather my body and stand up, feeling the need to move, to do anything but lay there. I race over to one of the lonely treadmills and press the start button. Cranking up the pace, I begin a mad sprint.

But no matter how fast I run, I can still feel the cool breeze on the back of my neck – the breath of death that I felt when the dream me committed suicide.

Author's Note

Hi there! I hope you've enjoyed my story so far! Whilst trying to write The Journal (my other story on my account; feel free to read that one as well) I had an idea to write about a boy standing on a cliff. Random, I know right? But it kind of all blossomed from there and of course, One Direction made it into my story :) They always seem to have a way of doing that. Anyways I hope this has satisfied your reading needs (if that's even a need lol) and has kept you entertained! Feel free to comment or tell me what you think could be improved (no harsh criticism please and thank you!) Also, I do not hold any sort of grudge or dislike Eleanor Calder in any way!! Thanks for reading!!

Cheers,

LarryisEdtastic :)