Silenced- A Larry Stylinson Story

Chapter 27- POV Louis: Oops, Hi!

 Beep. Beep. Beep.

The machine seems to taunt me, beeping along with the beating of my heart, mocking my fast pulse and nervous state. Not that I can help it, though I sure as hell try. I've tried several methods of slowing my heart rate over the last few days of staring at the ceiling that seem to drag by slower than math class with Mrs. Frasier, which is saying something, because if that lady talked any slower she'd be going in reverse.

But even after listening to every single song by Ed Sheeran and practicing re-learning the culinary terms that had been oddly enough wiped from my memory, every time I saw the sweaty green-eyed boy with the bad posture and dimples that were rarely flashed standing by the doorway, the beeping of the monitor that stood to the left of my bed sped up, and red painted my cheeks. 

Niall pointed this out once when he visited me, but then suddenly the subject of woven rugs seemed like an interesting conversation topic. It's not like I was trying to avoid talking about him or anything, but woven rugs are... neat. And at the time, I thought they were a worthy matter of discussion. It's a reasonable explanation. 

Right?

"Hi, bud." I glance over to see Mom hovering near a chair, hair carelessly thrown up into a bun and shirt on inside out. She looks exhausted. I smile lightly to please her, and she sends an insincere one in return. I can't blame her, she probably hasn't slept in days.

"Hi, Mum. How are you?"

"Don't worry about me, dear. Have you spoken to Harry yet?" She lets out a sign as she sits in a chair and leans back.

"No. I don't know him. It's weird."

"You do know him, you just don't remember him."

"Exactly. How am I supposed to talk to someone I have no memory of?"

"Louis, right now, you're in a situation no one should ever have to face. Yet you are. And you're so strong for that."

"I'm sick of people telling me I'm strong. No, I'm not freaking strong. My wrists resemble barcodes, littered with the cuts I have convinced myself I deserve, the cuts that I have tried to use to take away the pure remorse that fills my days, to try to convince myself to feel something, anything, but then I feel everything all at once and it's too goddamn much." 

Tears prick at my eyes, and I start yelling, straining my voice and giving myself a headache but at this point I don't care, because what do I have to live for anyways? "Does a strong person hurt themselves? Does a strong person get drunk in high school? Does a strong person end up in the hospital because they are too damn careless to give a shit about what happens to them? Does a strong person refuse to talk to the person they supposedly loved because they are too scared of something they can't even rationalize? No, no, no, and no. Look at me. I'm a mess. I'm a fucking disaster." 

At this point, tears are pouring down my cheeks faster than the waterfall in the woods behind my house- which is pretty damn fast, if I do say so myself. It's silent, though- dead silent- and the silence takes over the room, and casts a deepening sorrow into the air. I'd need a chainsaw to slice the tension.

I look out the door frame and notice Harry peeking into the room. Tears gush over his eyelids and cascade down his pale cheeks, and I find myself wondering how someone can look so beautiful when they're crying. I force the thought out of my brain as he rushes away from my room, wiping his eyes.

My mother, who is hunched over in the chair, stares into space, shaking her head, eyes also wet.

What feels like an eternity passes, and finally my mum speaks.

"No." She says harshly. I make a noise of perplexity and she continues. "You're not a disaster, you just... haven't figured everything out yet."

I sigh, and begin to protest.

"Louis." She cuts me off. "You're a great kid, and I am so proud of you for that, but you can't do this alone. You're not in a good place right now, even if you hadn't forgotten Harry."

"And culinary terms." I mutter.

"What?" She asks, annoyed that I cut her off.

"I forgot culinary terms."

"Oh right." With a sigh, she continues. 

"Louis... you have got to realize... your mind is the most restraining prison you'll ever be in. You may be locked up right now, but eventually you'll work your way out. And it will be confusing, and unfamiliar, to live in a world without the overwhelming self-restraint that holds you back from remembering these things and from convincing yourself you're not worth all you are, which, by the way, is the world. Louis, you are loved beyond belief. And you're hurting everyone that loves you by hurting yourself. I know you can't just stop being this way, and doing this, but at least try. Try for the people that love you. Even if you can't remember who one of them is. Please just try for us, and then eventually you'll learn to try for yourself. Maybe then you'll realize how much you're worth."

Silence. Pure silence.

Eventually, I speak, just barely above a whisper. "It's not that easy."

"God, Louis I know that." Now she's the one yelling. "I know it's not that easy. I know. But can't you at least try? Just please, try."

"Yeah, okay. Okay. I guess I can do that." Not even a whisper, but she can still hear me. Her tears soak her shirt. I remind myself that I am the cause of those tears. I am the cause of my mother's pain. I caused this. I don't deserve her love, or her time, so the least I can do is try to be better for her.

"It hurts."

"What?" She spins around, and for a second, I regret saying anything at all.

"Existing. It hurts to keep going every day, not wanting to, it hurts to know how much pain I've caused people, it hurts to over-analyze every single situation I come across, it hurts to feel not even an ounce of the happiness I had as a kid. It hurts. Everything hurts, so much. I don't want to hurt anymore, Mum. I'm tired. So tired." Her eyebrows fold up into a sympathetic expression, the one she used to give me after I would come to her with a scrape on my knee or a bruise on my hand. Her shoulders hunch, and I can tell that she's tired too.

"Sometimes pain is the only feeling that reminds you that you're still alive. Be happy you have a second chance. This is your opportunity to prove yourself. Show yourself your true capabilities. Live. Don't think too much about it. Just live. Don't merely exist. Find your star- find what brightens your life. Embrace it... and live. And please, for the love of God, talk to Harry?" 

I nod, and she plants a nurturing kiss on my forehead, whispering an "I love you" before grabbing her purse and strolling away.

"Living" seems awfully far away right now. The kind of living Mum was talking about- the one where you feel an overwhelming sense of peace and acceptance within yourself. That is nowhere in my line of vision at the moment. Even school- I haven't thought about that for weeks. 

I've just been trying to make it through each day. Doesn't that count for something?

A tall figure raps on the doorframe, and I glance up. His eyes aren't watery anymore, and his hair is effortlessly flipped into a quiff. His vivid eyes stare back into mine, before I shift my eyesight to notice the Jeans and plaid buttoned shirt he is sporting. I have to admit, he looks awfully attractive. I don't blame my past self for liking him. 

A smirk is pasted across his charming face, though his hands rub together with nervousness.

I sit up in bed to acknowledge his arrival, but get caught on my tightly tucked in aggravatingly pink bedsheets and wobble sideways, tumbling towards the floor. Before I have time to react, I am nestled gently in a pair of arms, large hands securing my bum and eventually returning me to the bed. 

"Oops." I squeak, face bright red.

And then, making my breath halt in my throat, he lets out a raspy, deep, and incredibly attractive, "Hi."

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