His Last Words || Larry Stylinson

Chapter One

He liked to say the world wasn't exactly how he thought it would be. He was supposed to grow up, have a family, find his prince charming. He got one of those things, a husband. Then he got some things he didn't wish for, money, fame, depression. When he was younger he never thought the world could be cruel, cold, and...messed up.

He was happy and smiley for a short period of time. Then a day came, where everything kinda just...fell apart. The band went on a break, his mom passed and he was back to the drugs. The only thing keeping him here was his husband, Harry.

Harry was more than Louis could ever ask for. Everyday he seemed to make him smile. He knew when Louis didn't feel good or felt down and he knew how to cheer him up. The jokes Harry told usually always worked, but when they didn't Louis felt like shit. Who doesn't laugh at their husbands joke? He'd always ask himself.

'Hey Ni' he walked up to Niall one day in the hotel. His phone stuck in his pocket and sunglasses layed gently on his head. Niall looked up, the blonde hair a little messy. He put his book down and gave Louis a concerned look. Louis knew he could tell something was off. Everyone probably could with the way he was carrying himself and the fact his eyes were puffy and red.

'Lou, are you alright?' Niall was sitting up straighter, panic written all over his face. The older boy just gave him a tearful smile and shook his head. Niall sat up quickly and pulled him into a hug. Louis froze, what was he supposed to do? There's no way he could tell Niall the truth, it would break him. 'Whats up Lou? Talk to me.'

'Im fine..really.' Niall shook his head, but never let go.

'I love you mate, and i'm always here for ya,' that made him feel a bit better. Not a whole bunch, but enough to stop him from crying all the way back to his hotel room. That was almost two years ago and he's never forgotten it. Not because of what Niall said, but because of what he'd done before going to see Niall. It was also the day he knew he would never tell anyone about what was going on.

He told himself he was alright, and he did that by telling lies. Most people would think you could tell he was broken by the way his eyes had no life, but He wore sunglasses everyday. If the boys and everyone else ever found it suspicious they didn't speak up on it.

It was the same old thing every night. Tell himself he was ugly, unworthy or pathetic and then cry. Harry would walk in the door sometimes to the sound of crying. He'd kick his shoes off and race up the stairs. He was always met with Louis curled in a ball crying himself to sleep. He would slowly get in beside him and wrap an arm around the skinny boy. Harry would whisper to him and tell him every sweet thing he could think of.

Summer had come quicker then he had thought it would. Outside he heard the morning birds chirping and people laughing while wearing their nice dresses or short or tank tops. Louis rolled down the sleeve of his shirt, hiding the dreadful scars. He was always told to show your scars, it lets people know that you fought and you won. But did he really win? Was the pain going away? Or was more of it coming? The boys would ask why he was wearing long sleeve shirts during the summer, but eventually they gave up. Not thinking that it could be something horrible.

He knew he was depressed, but he didn't want to admit it. He saw everyone with their truly happy smiles and their beautiful laughter. Then he looked at himself and he couldn't even try to be happy. He didn't want to tell anyone, because he was scared they would stop talking to him.

As much as it pained him, he carried on. Almost like a soldier with a battle wound nobody knew of. He was bleeding out, from every new cut. He always tried his best to not get any on the carpet, the less evidence the better. He threw out too many shirts thanks to the blood that stained them.

After the band broke up and Harry started doing more work that made him travel or stay somewhere for a long time, he felt lonely. Like, someone who doesn't have friends and eats alone at the lunch table. At this point, he realised he was describing himself in elementary. The first time he cut was in 7th grade when he got home and nobody else was. The next day he went to school and his teacher looked at his wrists.

'What are those?' She asked, panic in her eyes. Louis mentally cursed but gave her a weak, fake smile.

'Just the cat, I made the mistake of picking him up,' The teacher, of course, sent him to counseling not believing a thing he said. The counselor, Mrs. Reed helped a little, but nothing could ever really stop him from the self hate. Fortunately for him, he somehow convinced every teacher it was his cat and his mom never got called.

It was around 4 in the morning when Louis realised Harry wasn't in the bed with him. He rubbed his eyes and called Harry's name, his voice cracking a bit. Nobody replied. Work is all he thought before laying down again. His heart was beating steadily. It sounded almost like a clock, Tik...Tik...Tik. He was laying in his bed, hair askew and his blue eyes showing barely any life. He stared at his ceiling, thinking about nothing. Except the fact his husband would walk in the room the next morning with him dead.

He got up and walked over to the bathroom. Once he was in, he closed the door, not bothering to lock it. He stood on his tippy toes, reaching for the pills in the medical cabinet. He laid the bottles on the counter looking at each like it was a painting. He already had a glass full of water and was ready to take every single one. He pulled out a paper from his back pocket, a letter for Harry.

He looked at himself in the mirror and tears began streaming down his face. One by one, the pills disappeared. Louis was now sitting on the cold bathroom floor, his back against the counter. The moon was almost gone but it still casted a white glow over the bathroom and everything in it. He was ready. 'I love you Harry,' He whispered. With that, he closed his eyes, never opening them again.