Battlefield (Louis Tomlinson Fan Fiction)

Chapter 8

I stood in the bathroom flushing the toilet after the fourth time throwing up. I groaned and walked back to my bed. Sarah left this morning to pick Matt up from the airport, and to put some last minute touches on the wedding. Which, honestly, I’m happy she wasn’t here because it’s never been something I was too keen about Sarah seeing, me throwing up blood. I lay back in bed and rested my on my pillow.

“Dad,” I opened my eyes to see Sarah sitting in the chair next to my bed.

“Sarah, what time is it love?” I croaked, before clearing my throat.

“Its 8:30, I was going to see if you could tell me more of the story, but you don’t look to well.” She whispered. I pointed to my water in the table, and Sarah grabbed it, and stuck the straw in my mouth. I took a few big sips, letting the cold liquid chill my throat.

“I’ll tell you the story.” I said, my voice sounding a lot worse than it had yesterday.

“No, you don’t,” Sarah said brushing her bangs from her eyes. “You don’t have to.”

“I’m fine love, don’t worry.” It was a lie and we both knew it, but Sarah didn’t protest further.

***

“Elise, are you sure you want to do this?” I asked her, parking my car. “I have no problem going out and buying these things.”

“You don’t have to do that Lou,” Sarah said. “And if I’m lucky, my dad won’t be here.” She stepped out of the car and I followed her. We walked into the house, and Elise looked around. She led me up to her room and pulled out a suit case. She began grabbing clothes from her drawers, and throwing them into the bag. She soon finished and I grabbed her back, following her to the door. When we got to the bottom of the steps, there was a man standing there, and Elise gulped. “D-Dad,” She stuttered.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” He spat at her, “And who the fuck is this?”

“This is Louis, he’s my boyfriend. And I’m moving out.” She said gripping onto my hand.

“You’re not leaving.” He said moving closer. Elise took a step back, and I pulled her closer to me.

“I’m 19; I don’t need your permission.” She stammered. He started to walk forward, but I walked down the steps.

“Sir, I’m taking Elise with me.” I said to him. I clenched his fists, “Elise, go outside.” She bit her bottom lip and then picked up her bag before running to the door. Elise’s dad tried to grab her but I lunged forwards, knocking him over. I heard the door open and close; I stood up and looked at him with pure disgust. “You should be ashamed of yourself, putting your hands on her. She’s your daughter.”

“That girl, isn’t my daughter, she never was.” He said to me.

“Its people like you that make me sick.” I said before walking out of the house and back to my car, Elise sat in the passenger seat, her head in her hands. I opened the door, and her head shot up, she had tears streaming down her face and she threw herself in my arms.

“Did he hurt you?” She whispered, I kissed her hair, and rubbed her back.

“I’m fine, let’s go home.” I whispered to her and she nodded. She sat back in her seat and we drove to the house. When we got to my flat, I carried her bags in and set them by our bedroom door. I walked into the kitchen, to see Elise washing the dishes. “You don’t have to do that.” I said to her.

“It’s fine.” She said not looking up at me. I bit my bottom lip and leaned against the counter.

“Elise,” I said and she looked over to me. “Why did your dad hit you?” Elise’s jaw tensed and she turned back to the dishes, picking up a cup and washing it.