Cocaine for Breakfast

chapter 16

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  The morning after, Harry rolled out of bed, promised to call, and Louis hasn't heard back from him ever since. It's afternoon and Louis' nails are bitten raw to the flesh.

He sighs in frustration, getting the pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pockets and staring blankly at it in his open palm. Pursing his lips, he stretches sideways, reaching for the lighter, staring at it too. He tucks the cig behind his ear and clicks the lighter, watching the flame flicker in the gentle breeze outside.

It's oddly fascinating to watch the dancing of orange-reddish glow. He holds his other hand just a tad above, feeling the warmth. He grits his teeth together and lowers his hand. It's getting hotter, and his cruel smile grows as he enjoys the slight burn until the flame licks on his flesh and he hisses, withdrawing his arm and shaking his hand out in flaming pain. He blows over his burned palm with a frown.

Then finally, he traps his fag between his lips, clicking the lighter another time and inhaling the fumes down his itching throat, letting it fill his lungs. He visualises the smoke curling inside him, swirling, trying to find a way out of his body. A numb headache on his forehead erupts as he exhales shakily, the grey fume is carried away by the wind and he shivers with it.

The backdoor opens, but he doesn't turn around.

"Are you going to sit outside all day?"

He dips his chin to his chest and scratches in the nape of his neck more forcefully than necessary before rolling his head from side to side and taking another short drag with a hissing sound through his teeth.

"I see." The boards of the terrace squeak, and then he's alone again. He is kind of disappointed.

See, Louis doesn't know exactly what is wrong. It's nothing new that Harry has to leave in the morning and after the eventful weekend, and it really shouldn't be a surprise that his boy has to do dealer stuff with other dealers, who all are in Manchester, doing whatever they do there. Most likely selling, huh . However — there is this needle inside Louis' guts, poking his heart like it's trying to get a rile out of him, a sensation that hints something is wrong and Louis just can't figure out what it is. Needless to say, it's driving him insane.

He couldn't stand staying indoors. The walls felt like they were closing in on him, suffocating him. Niall and Liam had hung around until Niall had to go to work near lunch hour, and Liam had a thing with his parents - his sister is coming for a visit, or summat. Lara, obviously, refused to leave Louis alone, since she had nothing to do for the whole day and apparently wanted to watch him suffer through his misery. Louis doesn't understand why she even bothers. She's watching movies inside while he's been sitting on the steps for three long stretched hours, shaking in the cold and chain-smoking, probably slowly killing his lungs. His nails ache under the nervousness in his chest, just like his lip, that's bitten bloody and swollen.

He licks his bottom lip absently. His teeth sink into the flesh and the tip of his tongue darts out to play with the dead skin. Throwing his fag in the garden and lighting a new one, a sigh of self-pity leaves his mouth and destroys the artful curl of grey smoke he emitted into the air. He pouts. It looked pretty.

Louis had it all planned out, practiced his speech during his morning shower. He wanted to tell Harry about his cravings, not letting him find the much needed peace at night, that he wants to scratch his own eyes out or tear the skin off his bones because — it's just so bloody tight and Louis can't breathe. That guilt is literally eating him alive, swallowing him down and dragging him in the darkest pits of hell. The longer Harry stays out, the longer Louis has to feel like utter shit and he's scared he'll nest his home there — in the darkness. He doesn't want that, he wants to be better, but how will that ever work when his mind continuously feeds him with information of just why he won't be able to. That he's weak and not worth it anyway.