Apocalypse | L.S [Completed]

XIX

Through the blaring horns and screaming tire screeches, Louis speeds up his car the moment he's sure Harry is back inside, safely. He speeds, and he speeds, not caring about the cursing passers-by or the burning traffic lights, he doesn't stop until he's back to where the night took an ugly, unwanted turn from. Back to where the fucker touched Harry. He knows he doesn't make sense right now and he doesn't want to make sense. He wants to do things, things that will make the man realise that fucking with something that is Louis Tomlinson's isn't a child's play. Wants to make him wanna regret being born.

With eyes flashing murder and hands craving blood, Louis parks his car in the shadows, the empty street leading him into a darker, more determined space. His focused legs pick up a pace, enraged eyes searching for the drunk slop and violent mind getting unrest. He's like a volcano about to erupt, no matter the countless cries and prayers, nothing stops a volcano of destroying every fucking thing in its path, and Louis decides to do nothing less than that. He's about to fucking erupt.

Soon, he finds him—lying in a dirty corner just like the waste he is, his body drowning in a drunken spell, the stale stench of cheap alcohol still on him like the most priced cologne and pathetic eyes half open. His hardly open eyes fill with terror once he realises its Louis, limp body trying to escape but all he can do is crawl like a powerless insect, ready to be crushed under the wrath of Louis Tomlinson.

"Get off!" The man slurs, breath raining with sour alcohol and eyes screaming mercy. Louis doesn't though, he feels somehow accomplished when he reads the fear in the man's eyes, somehow encouraging him further. A fuel to his fire.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, you fucking shit?" Louis roars and watches the man crumble, trembling aged hands pleading in forgiveness and Louis lets out a dark, humourless, blank laugh.

Fucking shit. 

"Who. The. Fuck. Do. You. Think. You. Are?" Louis repeats in a ghastly still voice, punctuating each word with a precise punch on the already defeated body, his knuckles painting crimson. Louis continues to scourge him, even after the body goes completely still, even after the pleas for mercy comes down to a mum, even when his aged face is a dripping red.

Louis doesn't stop.

The sky turns a pretty grey with horrid clouds and yet, Louis doesn't stop. His own blood mixes with the man's, but Louis doesn't stop. He keeps on beating the lifeless body, each hit harder than the previous as the past night's event replays in his mind, as Harry's shriek echoes through him, as the filthy alcoholic stench intrudes their beautiful bubble.

Louis doesn't stop.

The sun doesn't dare to show up in the morning. Cruel rain greets Louis instead, with competing rage, the entire street just as empty as it was when the dance of death started and a mourning silence fills the air. Louis finally lets go, the rain drops mixing with the almost dried blood on the unrecognisable body and seeping into the sewers. He breathes in, cigarette in hand and cold precipitation eerily managing to calm his volcanic mind.

"Never mix murder and emotions."

His own words start to play inside him like an unpleasant song just when he realises the blunder he's created. Louis' fucked and he has no one else to blame but himself.

"Zayn," Louis calls out in a tiny apologetic tone, phone clutched tightly and nervous eyes scanning for any witnesses around.

"Lou? It's five in the morning! This better be a fucking emergency, mother fucker," Zayn snaps in an angry rasp while a whiney Liam swears in the background, a rustle of crisp bed sheets following next. "I-I, uh, I think I killed someone," a lost Louis replies, his tone small and somewhat horror-struck. It's like the aftermath of a volcanic eruption, no life left but an uncertain fucking silence.