calamity

chapter one

lou/

Nightmares plagued my restless sleep, I couldn't escape. I tried to run faster, I always tried. I found that it was useless now. The dreams, the nightmares, me. These nightmares left me restless, fearing sleep since I could remember. I didn't want to sleep, because I knew it would happen again. At this point I think I would prefer death. I couldn't do that though. I would weigh out the pros and cons in my head, the ones about if I had never been born.

I still do that to this day, maybe even right now as I lay in paralysis awaiting nature's light to peek through the windows. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore, yet now everything made sense. I was simply alive for benefit. To be a lover, a musician, a friend. I wasn't worthy of any of these in my opinion. Stan could find someone new, better. The band really didn't need me, everyone else could do everything, no one would miss me. Liam didn't need me as a friend, he had the bond with Niall. The boys had their own bonds, while I seemed to be a shadow. A walking shadow torn down through a ring and a shitty piece of courthouse paper we keep hung up in the hall. There is a coffee stain on the right corner of it. Stan had spilled coffee on it the day after it was official. The day it became official is the day he changed, or maybe I changed. I became scared to love anyone. My friends, my family, nothing compared to him anymore. At least that's what he kept telling me.

Stan and I ran into each other at a bar one night, he was a dashing older man so I fell instantly. Despite being older than all the other boys, I craved the need for older sometimes. If someone was older than me some of the weight could be pressed onto them. My personality is younger than it seems judging by my carelessness and childish behavior when with my friends, but it seems even that is dissolving into the sea I am wading through as I wait to be destroyed by the ravenous shark. The shark didn't have fins or razor sharp teeth, unstead it had a luring smile and a chest full of promises that would not be kept. This shark was waiting for me to admit weakness, surrounding my emotions as soon as they slipped. I was the victim, though i don't refer to myself as such since victims don't deserve the treatment. Stan only acted like that whenever I needed to be taught. Whether it was when I spilled the water out of the small vase in the dining room to not asking to go and see the boys before a concert, I deserved it. I didn't feel like a victim, but a prisoner. Stan was the warden and I was the prisoner that deserved to be in this prison.

I was vulnerable around Stan, yearning to be the ideal husband for him. From 3am panic attacks wondering if he was okay all the way to crying after he had his way with me, I needed to be perfect.
As I stare out the window, the returning sun begins to rise just above the balcony- I'm left with a head full of thoughts. Though most find this overwhelming, I have come to live with it. My legs tingle underneath the plush brown duvet, a gift from Lottie that we received a few weeks before the wedding. It fit perfectly on the king bed in which we lay, Stan's breathing soft and husky as he sleeps peacefully. My head crooked over the right to look at the small l.e.d alarm clock on the nightstand, it was 6:55am. Gently removing the covers off my small frame, I stand up and make my way to the conjoining bathroom. I switch on the light and try not to groan at the bright rays coming from the ceiling, I had a headache. My hand roams over the counter as I trudge to the mirror to get a look at the damage. Stan had gone to the bar with a few of his work friends last night, drinking way too much. So, as usual, I was the object in which the frustration was taken out on. As I look at the reflection, I want to gag.

My once tanned skin appears pale and sickly, the yellow bathroom lighting making it apparent. A medium sized bruise has crept up on my jawline, the deep purple going on forever in my eyes. Deep bags have formed under my eyes from the constant lack of sleep and stress. I look disgusting, I avoid my glances going down to my body. I don't want to look at it. As I step into the shower my breathing slows, I'm actually calm now. I forget about everything, letting the slightly cold water run down my body. I wish I could forget all the time. Not the boys, the band, the fans. I just want to forget. Actually, no. I don't want to forget. I want to be forgotten.

Thank you so much for reading! This is my first actual story and I am very excited about it. Let me know what you think.

What do you think about the way Louis talks, constantly putting himself down?

Thoughts on Stan?

Why do you think Louis changes his opinion about forgetting, to instead be forgotten?

Have an amazing week, Happy Monday! (or any other day of the week)