The Side You Don't Hear (1D)

Chapter 13

Louis's POV

                It had been four days since that man told us that Harry had died during recovery, and I had done nothing but sit at Liam's flat since then.  I couldn't bring myself to go back to the flat that Harry and I once shared, as it brought back way too many memories that made this harder to bear.  Liam understood, of course, and allowed me access to his belongings as if they were mine too.  What a great lad.  I had taken up staring at walls lately, because apparently nothing else seems more interesting to me.  TV shows I love don't pull me in and they've become annoying recently.  The sight and smell of food makes me instantly nauseous, so I avoid it at all costs, which probably isn't healthy, but I don't care.  I just miss my best friend.

                The other boys have been taking it almost as hard as I have, as we've all lost a brother.  Liam has become our rock, being the only one functional enough to cook us food, keep us generally clean, and manage all the band's issues.  It must be his level head that allows him to see that wallowing in grief isn't the best use of his time, but I can see it in his eyes that he's pretty torn up inside as well.

                I sat on the couch, as usual, but this time with Niall beside me and Zayn on his other side.  We were all freshly showered and dressed in our finest suits, but we all looked particularly dead that day.  Ouch, too soon.  If the bags under Zayn's eyes were any indication as to what mine look like, then I really shouldn't be going out in public today, but hopefully my hair wasn't as bad as Niall's.  None of us had bothered with our hair, so both mine and the Irish boy's hair fell lifelessly against our foreheads.  Ouch, too soon, again.  Zayn was lucky enough to have his hair naturally stand up, so all his needed was a little brushing and it as generally presentable.  Liam, the lucky bastard, didn't have to do a damn thing to his buzz cut. 

                Speak of the devil, Liam came bounding down the stairs looking particularly spiffy and ushered us off the couch and into the car down stairs.  We were all dreading today: Harry's funeral.  I never understood these kinds of events, as everyone just cried and hugged providing the most depressing atmosphere ever when all people really need is a good cheering up.  As we pulled up to the venue, I put on my best blank face to avoid unnecessary conversations with people I didn't want to talk to.  I sat alone the entire time, only indulging in hugs from Gemma and Anne, who were clearly and understandably taking this worse than I was.

                Before I knew it, the ceremony had ended and I was left alone in the church pews.  Liam had tried to get me to come home, but I had shooed him away, saying that I needed more time and I'd eventually walk home.  Harry's coffin was still sitting in the front, which I thought was peculiar.  In all the TV shows and movies I've seen, they generally put those things in the ground right away, but who was I to tell them that they're doing it wrong?  Maybe they just do that for dramatic effect and this is how real funerals work.  Either way, I was still sitting in the back row, as far from the coffin as I could get.  I couldn't bring myself to get up and place the single rose I held on top of it, because to me, that would mean accepting that he was gone, and I don't think I'll ever be able to do that. 

                The sun was starting to go down, placing it directly behind the large stained glass window on the wall.  It was blindingly bright to my eyes that were adjusted to the inside light, but painstakingly beautiful none the less.  It cast constantly moving shades of oranges, yellows, and greens across my face, warming it.  I looked up at Harry's coffin once more, sitting closed, but also covered in the same light, making me tear up again.  I hung my head and stood, following the light patterns on the floor to the center aisle and then following it to the front.