Silenced- A Larry Stylinson Story

Chapter 36- POV Louis: The First 40 Years

"Louis!" Fizzy shrieks, sprinting towards me and jumping into my arms, knocking me backwards onto the lush grass with a joyous grin. It's a cool, restful, shady afternoon with light filtering lazily through the treetops that meet high overhead and shut out the direct sunlight with lush leaves and a breeze that cools her face, cheeks flushed from the stifling heat.

"Heyyy, smiley! What's up?" I rise to my feet, twirling her around as she giggles, and set her to the ground in front of me. Dropping to one knee so I am at her height, I ruffle her hair.

"Mommy bought me a cake for my birthday!" She spins on one foot, corners of her mouth stretching towards her ears. Her long hair flounces in the wind.

"Oh boy, well you'd better be careful I don't eat it all!" Fizzy's mouth plops open in surprise. I begin to jog towards the door, proving to her how serious I am about eating this cake. She sprints in front of me, heavy breaths puffing out of her as she scrambles to reach the door before I do.

"No!" A yelp escapes her mouth and her hand presses flat to the house, chest heaving up and down, but she's giggling all the while. The sound lights up my face.

"Oh, what a shame. I guess you get the cake after all." Winking at her, I head inside. Phoebe and Daisy sit at the kitchen table in matching pink shorts and striped shirts, scribbling on white paper with the same markers that I used as a child; I'm surprised they still have ink left in them. 

Mum, still in her work uniform, stands on a disturbingly wobbly chair hanging bright pink streamers- fizzy's favorite color. A small cake sits in the corner of the room, with fluffy pink frosting and pink sprinkles. It looks like a home- a happy home. 

Just as peace begins to take over my mood, Lottie and Fizzy come tearing out of their bedroom towards me, screaming, with a bottle of silly string in hand. It takes about three seconds for me to jump behind the table, but they manage to ambush me before I have the chance to move. 

"Oh, you little-" I utter, pouncing towards them with a pillow from the couch, whacking their sides with soft thuds. They erupt into squealing laughter and jet more silly string towards my face, where it gets caught in my hair and sticks to my shirt. After they have used up the entire bottle, they step back to examine their work: me, decked out entirely with pink silly string. Turning towards each other, the girls high five, giggling widely, and run off, leaving me covered head to toe in the rubbery, unearthly substance. 

Sending a weary look towards Mum, she chuckles. "Don't worry- the first 40 years of childhood are the hardest." I smirk and let out an amused sigh. "You'd better get showered before we cut the cake and open presents."

The cool water feels good against my back, countering the balmy summer air outside. I have already picked the rubbery cords off my clothes, but bits of the slimy material still stick to me and weave through my sweaty quiff. After washing enough to rid myself of the silly string, I step out of the shower, wrapping a scrawny towel around my waist.

I should have heard from Harry by now, since it's mid afternoon and he always texts me good morning. He didn't text me last night, either, even after I called him a few times, but I decided to shrug it off with the conclusion that either his phone was dead or he was very busy. I didn't want to seem nosy- but now it's been almost an entire day and his absence and disregard of my many, many phone calls to him is worrying. I call him once more before deciding to go see him at the hotel tonight, after Fizzy has had her cake and been sent to bed.

After shaking my head vigorously to rid my hair of excess water, I shrug on a loose white tank top. The cool fabric is like ice against my burning skin, and I finish dressing and styling my hair before rejoining the girls in the kitchen. 

Mum nods a head towards the counter and asks, "I got some of that mac and cheese Fizzy likes at the store- would you mind cooking it?" I send her a grunt of approval, which she raises her eyebrows at.

I peek a glance at Daisy, and clap a hand over my mouth when I grasp that she has scrawled blue ink all across her face, resulting in her fashioning a Jamie Dornan-like beard. Mum spins towards her to see what I am so surprised at, and when she notices the smurf- looking toddler who is sporting an ear-to-ear grin, her eyes widen rapidly. 

Phoebe giggles heedlessly at the sight, tiny cheeks flushing bright red. She begins to guide her own orange marker towards her face, eyes engaged on Daisy. Mum and I lock eyes, horrified, and both fling ourselves toward the small girl. We reach her as she presses the marker to her chin, preventing any further ink from turning her into another tiny Jamie Dornan. Cross at Daisy, Mum scolds her, but a chuckle sits just behind her irked lips, and, while cleaning the ink off of Daisy's face, she bursts out laughing. 

Daisy crosses her arms in front of her chest and pouts. A snicker escapes my mouth as well and pretty soon Fizzy and Lottie withdraw from their room to see what all of the laughing regards. 

Taking in the comical sight, they throw their heads back with shrill giggles.

"Happy Birthday dear Fizzy, Happy Birthday to you!" Lottie holds the last note twice as long as the rest of us, waving her arms around like a music conductor. When she concludes her own personal performance, she sits back in her chair, chin up and grinning. 

Fizzie rolls her eyes, and moves her head back so her thick brown hair flows gracefully over her right shoulder and rests there, glowing in the evening light. With one swift breath, she blows out the smoldering candles, gray smoke puffing past the cake and unleashing itself into the already too-hot air. Fizzy slams her eyelids closed and mutters a wish under her breath, beaming when she has finished.

We cut the cake, which is a rich chocolate tribute to Fizzy's decadent personality, and observe excitedly as she opens her presents, a new doll and a pink glittery notebook that she hugs to her chest and claims to cherish forever.

She insists we play twister ten times in a row, and we let her win each round, if only to witness the gleam of ecstasy in her eyes and the way she jumps because she's so excited and shouts "Again! Again! Again!" until we all get up off the pigpile we have fallen into and begin to play again, and again, and, you guessed it, again.

After the tenth round, Fizzy is so tired that she lets Mum carry her limp and drowsy figure to her bedroom, where the twins have been sleeping for two hours, exhausted after only three rounds. Mum and I clean up from the day, smiling under our tired expressions. I ask if I can leave to go see Harry, even though I would have snuck out despite her answer. 

She seems to know this, though, and nods her head, sighing, lips twitching upwards at the corners.

The sun is sinking toward the horizon, the pitiless white ball now an angry orange that casts a bright glow on the entrance to the hotel, sort of resembling a spotlight. I peel my skin off the scorching seat of my car, and yelp when the metal exterior burns my hand as I slam the door closed.

"Hey Marge, how are you this fine evening?" I ask, crossing one leg over the other and resting my chin on my hands, which are planted on the gray counter.

"Hi, Mr. Tomlinson. I'm well. You?" She replies with a smile that makes me narrow my eyes- a smile that can't be genuine.

"Good... Marge, what's up?" I query, suspicious.

"What's up? Is that some more of your teenage slang?" 

"I mean, yeah, you could say that." I reply confused. She shrugs and spins around in her chair, grabbing a bowl of lemon drops and shoving them towards my face.

"Take one." She demands with a sharpness in her voice I haven't yet heard.

I mumble, "Okay" and grab one, asking her cautiously whether Harry is in his room or out, "Because, I say, "I haven't heard from him since yesterday." She stops in her tracks, inspecting my expression, as if trying to determine whether or not I am joking. I raise a curious eyebrow. 

"Mr. Tomlinson," She starts, clearing her throat, "Mr. Styles checked out of this hotel last night."

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