Dead Flowers - l.s

One

Louis POV
    Those red lips haunt my dreams, just as the creatures lurk in the dark. Every time they move it's precisely planned like a programmed robot. They send shivers down my spine as they show of pearly whites in a small smirk. No one is safe from them, no one at all.
   
    The moment I saw them, I knew they were trouble. As soon as I saw him staring with those forest green eyes with a wildfire in them, I knew he was bad. With those red lips in a smirk, and those eyes that could stab into a soul, I looked back. I didn't know I would regret it, not until I was put into the situation I was in now.

All I ever dreamed was to have someone to love and to hold. When those piercing, evil, green eyes poured into mine, I knew I was in too deep too fast. The past is the past though, I can put it behind me. That's what everyone says, but you can't ever forget the touch that burns your skin, the lips that feel like fire and the eyes that make you weaker than a small kitten on the streets.

His name was Harry Styles, a man of tricks up his sleeves. You could call him magic for all he cared. It was the only way to explain the games he played. I just so happened to be a victim of that game, yet this time, the cards played out in my favor. I got the aces, the kings, the queens, the jacks, and he got something far worse than a loss.

If you're wondering what Harry got, I can try to put it in the simplest form possible. Harry is six feet under in the ground where he belongs. My head spins every time I think about him. My stomach churns when I feel how he touched me again. Shit like that leaves marks, it leaves bruises and burns that you can feel even when he's not there anymore.

There's a lady who tries to help me every once in a while. We sit in her office and talk about my relationship with him. She tries to coax me into thinking that he's innocent and that my brain is playing tricks. I told her the full story, every dark and twisted moment up until the blade sliced his throat.

Sometimes I can't hep but wonder, was it all imaginary? But I bring myself back to reality when I realize everything he's done. A brain like mine couldn't make something up that big. It was sick of her to even question both me and Harry's innocence.

So here I am, sitting in the chair across from hers as she once again tries to lie to me about my past. She told me I should start writing my memories of Harry in a journal she gave me. I might do it, I might not. Only time will tell.

Life goes on mostly normal without Harry. It's like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders, but as soon as he was buried, another 500 pounds was added. I don't know wether to be psychopathically happy that he's gone, or weirdly sad that he truly is. I pick up the journal from the table that separates us and then look down at it.

It looks quite expensive, considering it was made of leather, with a thick bind on the outside. It's smooth to the touch, and is cool enough to sooth the burning of remembrance that won't leave my skin. I once tried to rip my skin off because it got so bad, but I luckily had one of my best mates there to stop me from doing so.

Every memory, every scar, no one sees but me. I don't understand. Is his mark not as prominent to others because they haven't stared at it for hours on end, hoping everything would all just become a dream I could wake up from? Life sucks ass. Those are my final thoughts before the "therapy" session is over.

I don't understand why I'm there, there's clearly nothing wrong with me. Yes, I have some emotional damage, but it's nothing I can't handle n my own. It hurts even more to know that someone would tell me I'm lying about my pain.

I open the notebook to the first page and think about what parts of the session I didn't zone out. She told me to write my feelings freely and let go of every story and emotion I had built up that I hadn't told her. In that moment, I decided that I was going to start writing in the journal. If I didn't like it, I could always just stop, right? Maybe it'll be good for me.

I grab a pen from kitchen counter and take the cap off. After mentally preparing myself to write, I try to settle on a memory that I can think of clearly. All of them are either scary, depressing or violent. Images rush to my head all at once and I know exactly what to write.

"Dear journal,
    I've never done anything like this before. It's interesting to have something so personal to hold on to. I've never had a way to express myself and the memories I wish I could burn from my brain. It was hard to pick one for today, though. Everything seemed... jumbled and mixed up in my brain. I did chose one eventually, one in particular that haunts me to this day.

"I stood there waiting for something to happen. It was playing in slow motion as his hands pressed on the wall above my head. He looked so scary and intimidating, standing there with authority while towering over me by a large amount. He always said he liked that I was small, but that just made me weaker and he knew it. I know he knew it.

"Everything he ever did was plotted around my strengths and weaknesses, taking complete advantage of the information he had too easily caught on to. I wished I'd never starred back into those devilish green eyes that day. I wish I'd never starred at this menacingly red lips as he smirked with confidence.

"The day we met was a curse and I hated myself for it. I hated myself for deciding to let this man be the one to lay beside me as I fell asleep. In that moment, I was frozen as he was yelling at me, telling me I'm worthless. He didn't usually hit me, but when he did, it was bad.

"He always apologized to me after and gave me bandaids and ice packs. However, the longer our relationship went on, the less merciful he was of me. As I was pressed against the wall, I became rushed with adrenaline and I pushed him off of me. He happened to be a bit tipsy at the time, I could tell because of the smell of whisky coming from his hauntingly warm breath.

"I grabbed a knife from the kitchen and pointed it towards him. I'd had enough of his shit and his games. I wanted it all to end, but I didn't realize what I was doing until I did it. I pressed the knife up to his side and pressed it down to add pressure. I was the scary one this time, I was in control.

"He started to shake, however his face remained emotionless. He wasn't afraid of dying right now, and if he was, he was amazing at hiding it. 'Say you're sorry, Harry!' was all I could say with emotion taking over me. He shook his head in response, not able to communicate verbally. 'OPEN YOUR GOD DAMN MOUTH AND TELL ME YOU'RE FÜCKING SORRY HARRY!' I screamed at the top of my lungs.

"This time he finally answered with his words, 'I won't ever be sorry, Lewis' he spat. That night, Harry died. His cause of dead, I, Louis Tomlinson.
- louis"

When I was done writing I felt relieved somehow. There was finally a way to tell my traumatizing stories even if no one believed me.

Authors note: I hope you liked the first chapter! To be completely I should probably just go ahead and post another one at 1 in the morning because otherwise I won't have any motivation to do anything with it at all. Let's hope I'm not too sleep deprived tomorrow. Oh and I most likely won't be able to update Monday-Thursday because I have stuff planed. I am kinda educated to the story at the moment even though this is the first chapter. I just love how twisted and chaotic is is and will continue to be. Stay safe and have a great summer luvs! - Nicole