Devotion [L. S.]

20

I tried my very best to finish this one as quickly as possible, due to popular demand ahah

Hope you'll like it!

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Trigger warning: violence, I'm sorry :(

Louis Tomlinson

"God no, I just- Lou, you need to leave. Please, don't ask any questions and just leave, please", I beg him, starting to get really nervous. 

-

What started off as a cute idea to come over to Harry's house seemed to be evolving into a nightmare. I still didn't know why Harry wanted me to leave so badly, but all I knew is that I wasn't planning on it. 

"Baby, hey! I need you to calm down and tell me why you want me to leave so badly", I try to calm him down by forming my hands into this shushing manner and sitting both of us down on his bed. 

"No I can't- I just. Please just listen to me", Harry started to get really frantic and so was I. 

"You know that if there's anything you'd like to be alone for, I'll leave without a doubt, but I need to know what it is, so I can be sure you're safe. You understand that, right?", I try my best to sound as calm as possible as Harry was looking like he had just seen a ghost and not just one. 

"No, babe. Of course I understand, I just need to be alone right now. Like I need to", Harry tries to sound as calm as possible, but he was failing at that tremendously. 

"Okay, if you're sure this has nothing to do with your safety, I'll leave", I state, feeling a little hurt for Harry not telling me what was up with him. 

Since the past week, I really thought we moved past the hiding stage, but I guess we didn't, well, so be it. I stand up from his bed, a little more aggressively than planned and start to walk towards the window again as I hear the loud noise of the front door shutting. 

I immediately shoot my head back at Harry who is looking at me with a look of terror on his face. Was that what this was all about? Someone coming home? Who could it be? 

That's when it hit me and the whole scenario just clicked in my head. 

It was his dad, his fucking shitbag of a dad. After a couple of seconds of silence, Harry shoots up from his bed and runs over to me as he whisper-shouts:

"You need to leave NOW."

He grabs me by my arm harshly and drags me to the window, but obviously, I resist. 

"No Harry! Not a single hair on my fucking head is thinking about leaving you here with that dirtbag!"

"Please!", the poor boy pleads again while a single tear rolls down his angelic face. It's quickly followed by another. 

Harry has made me feel a lot of things these past few days. From the excitement of finally being able to do this English project together to crying in each other's arms on a fucking rooftop. He made me feel all sorts of things, but most of all: he just made me feel. 

The love he feels for me has made me love myself a little too. He pointed out how he loves the purity of my laugh, the way my hair leads its own life whenever I've laid down for a bit. He told me how he adores the ice-blue colour of my eyes and the way my lips are shaped. He said he admires every single one of my tattoos and how he thinks they were created to be inked onto my body and my body alone. 

A couple of months ago, I would've never believed that one day I would be able to say that I am okay with the person I was, am and became. I'm not able to say that I love myself yet, but we're on our way, our way.