The Perfect Drug (Nouis)

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☠ Louis' Point of View ☠

"Where have you been? Are you aware that it's well past three in the morning young man?!"

"I think I know how to tell time."

"What did you just say?"

"Did I stutter?" With that I stormed out of the room and ran upstairs, as far away as possible from my 'father'. I burst into my room and slammed the door shut, locking it behind me before I threw myself onto my bed, silently fuming. Though it had been a brief encounter, it still pissed me off.

I swear I wasn't always this way. If I think hard enough I can vaguely remember a time in my life when everything wasn't complete shit, but it hurts too much; hurts knowing that I once had a life worth living for, worth being happy about, but now I have nothing. I lost it all. I should probably explain myself, shouldn't I?

Well for starters my name is Louis – my last name and when I was born aren't important.

My parents and I, we were a happy family. We used to spend every free second we had with each other and the days were loaded with fun. Not so much now.

You see, on the day of my fifth birthday everything changed. My mum left us. Packed her bags and took the money that was meant for my party, skipping town with some guy she'd been cheating on dad with for months. That day we did nothing. Dad cancelled everything and cried himself to sleep with the help of a lot of alcohol. I had sat in my room, playing with my toys and trying to ignore the loud sobs that echoed throughout the house, but it was impossible.

From then on things only got worse.

Dad turned bitter and couldn't bear to be in a room with me for more than a few seconds since I heavily resembled my mum, leaving me to learn how to fend for myself. Needless to say, I grew up at a very young age.

On the night of my tenth birthday dad had drunkenly stumbled into my room, claiming that I was a worthless nobody, that it was my fault mum left, that I deserved only the worst. When he sobered up he had given me a tear-filled apology, saying that he still loved me and that I was lucky to have him. It confused me, but of course I believed him. Still do.

After that I came to the conclusion that my birthday was nothing to celebrate, (really though, who wants to celebrate the day their mum abandoned them?) so I simply began ignoring the day, brushing off dad everytime he mentioned it or got me a gift. If mum didn't care then why should I, right?

Now I'm eighteen and I basically live by myself. Dad's always disappearing randomly, sometimes for days and sometimes for hours. When he is home though, he spends his time yelling at me about all the things I've done wrong, ignoring me, or drinking his life away.

Where he turned bitter, I turned to stone – meaning I taught myself how to not feel any type of emotion unless I said otherwise.

I stood up and dragged myself over to the bathroom, scowling as I stopped in front of the mirror and saw who was looking back at me.

Lifeless, dull blue eyes. A non-appealing body with zero muscle. Facial hair that wasn't suiting in the slightest. Metal sticking from way too thin lips and unkempt eyebrows. Black ink permanently staining nowhere near enough skin... Basically, I'm the definition of damaged goods.

Something that no one wants or needs.

A waste of space.

With a sigh I averted my eyes from the horrid sight, instead staring intently at the drawer off to the side. I walked over to it and yanked it open, breathing in deeply as my eyes fell upon the cold metal. I slowly picked it up and headed back over to the sink, lifting my left arm up and hovering the blade over it with my right. With shaky hands I stared at the unmarked flesh, breathing in roughly through my nose as I searched for any ounce of courage I had.