And I Can't Make It On My Own

So Cut My Wrists and Black My Eyes

It was late, around 4:30 in the morning. Louis thought he’d surprise Harry by staying up to greet him. He sat atop their bed, only in pants, legs spread, knees bent, laptop in between. His eyes were glassy with unshed tears threatening to spill. He stared blankly at the screen, lips quivering, pressed in a tight line. He was aimlessly scrolling through tumblr when he came across a photoset that made him stop dead. It was Harry at his birthday party. Louis couldn’t be there because he took the day to go visit Lottie, who had broken her leg and was held up in the hospital. So Harry had gone out and enjoyed his birthday without him. It didn’t bother him too much because they had their own party the day before his actual birthday. But the images that Louis now had engrained into his brain left him shocked, speechless, and heartbroken. The first picture was of Harry with Nick and some girl in a police outfit. Louis had no problem with this because Nick, Harry and he were all good mates. But in the second picture the girl whom previously had on the police outfit was now dressed only in a lace bikini top from what he could see with Harry seemingly staring at her arse. When he first saw this his face immediately dropped. But the last one is the one that really got to him. The same girl was now grinding up on a sitting Harry. She had on the same bikini top and what looked to be a pair of underwear. Louis could’ve sworn his heart stopped. He started breathing heavily, short wheezing breathes coming out in pants. Then he felt it. The first tear finally cascaded down his face dropping onto his bare leg. Then, it was like someone had opened the floodgates. He couldn’t stop them now, tears freely flowing. Sobs started racking his body, making him quake where he sat. He finally slammed his laptop shut and shoved it off the bed. He heard a crash but to be honest, right now, he didn’t give a fuck. He just wanted an explanation or a reason as to why Harry had a fucking stripper grinding up on him. He crawled up the bed and got under the covers, curling himself into a ball to get as small as possible. He just wanted to disappear. Was I not good enough for Harry? Did he not want me anymore? All these thoughts scrambled around Louis’ brain. He obviously wasn’t good enough for Harry. He curled into himself even more as the sobbing increased. His vision was blurred and his ears were ringing. Harry was his everything, his world, his life, and he felt like that was fading. Like he was fading. That’s when he decided. He was going to do it. The thought hasn’t occurred to him in such a long time. Since he met Harry, he thought, a hoarse laugh coming out. So he pulled himself up off the bed and trudged into the conjoined bathroom. He shut the door and stood in front of the toilet, facing the mirror. He took a deep breath and opened up the cabinet, eyes searching around for it. They landed on a small box. Louis carefully pulled down the box and opened it. He slid down to the floor with his back against the sink. Ever so slowly he pulled out just one. A fresh new razor. He took another deep breath, twirling the metal object around between his fingertips. He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn’t hear the door open downstairs. Louis pushed the band or his briefs down, figuring it was the best place to do this. In doing so, he uncovered all of his old scars, the white and pale pink of them standing out against his tan skin. He now wondered how Harry had never noticed them before, or if he did he never said anything. He slowly but surely pressed down the razor to taught skin of his hip. He dragged the cool metal along his skin, lightly at first, just to get used to the feeling he used to so strongly crave. The second time he went down with the blade was not as nice. It was a harsh cut slashed across his skin, trying to relieve him from some of the anger and depression he was feeling. All the while, Harry was walking around the flat, looking for Louis. He looked everywhere, slowly panicking when he reached their room and the boy was nowhere to be found.

“Lou?” He whisper yelled. Then he saw it, light traveling through the crack under the bathroom door. Louis thought he heard Harry say his name, but it must have been his mind torturing him. Must of been, right? So he brought the razor down again, pressing the hardest this time, slicing his skin open as he brought the blade across. Just as he was finishing this cut, the door swung open. He heard a gasp, but didn’t move. His tears were coming again, dripping into his cuts. He bathed in the stinging sensation of the burn salty tears intermingling with his wounds.