*Warning: Self harm is in this one. If you don't like that thing, it's not too detailed, but you might want to skip this one.*
“@Louis_Tomlinson Louis’ girlfriend is so fat and ugly ew #tramp”
“WTF is it with Louis’ girlfriend? Why is he even with her? She’s so ugly”
“@Louis_Tomlinson you need to break up with that hoe and hook up with me babe, I’ll treat you better than she does ;)”
Tears poured down my cheeks as I read pages of hate about myself. This is why I didn’t have a Twitter and Louis really didn’t want me to get one, but I still went on his sometimes and read through his mentions about me, or I typed in “Louis’ girlfriend” into the search bar. I know it was stupid, and I probably deserved to read it if I was looking it up, but I couldn’t help it. Sometimes, I just felt like shit and it was nice knowing other people agreed with me about myself, even if it did lead to me cutting myself. A few months ago, with Louis being a lot more busy and around a lot less, I started getting upset about how much everyone hated me, and I had the scars on my wrists and thighs to prove it. Louis had no idea; I’d cover it up with make-up, long-sleeves and bracelets. And he wasn’t around enough anymore.
“Maybe we’ll all get lucky and Louis’ girlfriend will die somehow.”
I read that one, and lost it as I grabbed my razor and cried, sitting down on my bed, with the laptop open. They all hated me, and they were right. I wasn’t good enough for Louis. I sobbed as I pressed the blade to my wrist, and I sliced it over and over again. I winced, feeling the sharp familiar pain, and I held my razor as I watched the blood rise to my cuts. I felt some sense of relief, knowing these girls would probably be happy if they knew what I was doing because of them. I sat down on the floor, leaning against the bed, just staring at my wrist.
I took a few deep breaths, trying to stop the tears, not ready to get up and clean myself up yet. I jumped as I thought I heard something at my front door, but it was quiet, so I ignored it. I shuddered at the drops of blood on my wrist, and I jumped when I heard a voice out of my door.
“Baby, surprise!” I heard Louis yell as he opened my door.
I stared at him with wide eyes, terror and shock all over my face. His smile fell and the sparkle in his eyes left immediately when he saw me on the floor, bloody and in tears. “Louis,” I breathed.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” He yelled, running over to me.
“Nothing,” I lied stupidly through my tears of embarrassment.
He knelt down in front of me and carefully took the razor from my hands, before he took both of my wrists in his hands. The pain in his face was evident, and I just cried harder. “Babe,” he whispered, kissing my softly on the forehead, still holding my bloody wrist in his hand. “Shh, it’s alright. Come here,” he said softly as he pulled me to the bathroom. I didn’t say a word as he ran my wrist under the cold water, letting the blood wash down the drain. He pressed a towel firmly against my wrist and he held it there until the bleeding stopped.
He used his other hand to wipe away the tears on my face, and he tilted my chin so I was finally forced to look him in the eyes. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, not knowing what else to say. He sighed, and pulled me over to the bed, where he saw my laptop. His eyes flashed when he saw what I was looking at. “Louis, stop!” I said, trying to grab my laptop from him, but he was too quick. He grabbed it and held me back as he scrolled through the twitter pages of hate about me.
