built memories | a sequel

18 - Poetic

Playlist

Gold by Wake Owl 

Heart like yours by willamette stone

Home by Ellie Goulding 

» i'm finally happy with this chapter so let's all make a circle and applaud the effort!!!! btw that's zoe in the picture, just thought about putting here because she's stunning and wowowow , but if you want check all the characters at the end of the chapter, if you didn't yet. Enjoy.x

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There were some mornings while Louis would go on his way for work, daydreaming about driving in front of a city bus with his car. But then Zayn would rest his hand in his knee, reminding him that life is there in front of him to be lived. So he wouldn't do it. He would delay that thought.

There were other mornings (a lot of mornings, too depressing to even count them) that Louis would stay at home, especially in his college's days, so the city bus wasn't an option, a bottle of vodka was, because there was no motivation to keep fighting. The future was blurry and unknown for him, the days were so cold and grey, he felt trapped because the sun wasn't calling for him and during the night before, the stars didn't take care of him. So with dark circles under his eyes –the same eyes that were still playing the same nightmares, the same fears over and over again, burning –with his dry throat and his body shaking he would write in a random piece of paper, sometimes even a napkin, whatever it would come to his heart. Not his mind. His mind was drowning in alcohol and no one could rescue it, him.

In the mornings that he would wake up still drunk, after a long night previously followed by a long day, he would destroy all those words said by heart. All those poems, all those secrets and confessions. All the love was slowly being set on fire. He knew he would regret it eventually, he was forcing the oblivion knowing he wasn't strong enough to reach the safeness he needed.

Louis would take a shower then, wash everything away, every sore piece he had with him, would wash him and all the nostalgia and sadness away. It would go away with the water for that little moment, a headache and sore throat replacing that feeling and pain. He wouldn't whisper evil things into his own ear afterwards, because Zayn would shout them at him. He would recognise that they would become evil being whispered by himself, to himself. Zayn was being his hero in his turn, until he could do that job again for himself.

It was pathetic, he recognised it, he recognises it. He was drunk but anything could intoxicate Louis the way Harry did. He understands he got too deep into this, maybe even got addicted to the sadness, loneliness and just the feeling of not being okay and using pain to relieve... pain. His life was slowly being taken away from him, it was sweet, it smelled of wine and it stroked his hair. He started to see only the black things in life, for so long that he got used to it. No one could paint it in white again, there were too many things that didn't match with the reality he wanted to dream about, but didn't. Otherwise, he kept having nightmares and living those awake as well.

But today, this morning, is not like any kind of those previous ones, he doesn't want to step in front of a city bus. It wouldn't be beautiful. He wants to live. He wants to pour love into this day until is overflowing. He has breakfast sober with people smiling at him and not shouting evil words that even though they are everything he should hear, he knows them already and considers them. He has that kind of breakfast he long forgot the feeling it transmitted that he can't even remember that it was felt by him once. The warmness he feels isn't from the hot tea that slides along his throat (and it doesn't burn like it used to with vodka) is from the arm pressed against his from the man sitting next to him.