Insatiably You | l.s.

Chapter 7

Time stilled, serenity broken, composure lost and tranquillity gone. All at the mere mention of a name. All at the mere whisper of Louis. Missiles struck, battles forwent and carcasses salvaged. Hearts shattered, beaten and bruised, with blood freely flowing out of their wounds. Paralysis, fear, betrayal and longing wrapping around my lungs like quicksand threatening to engulf my entire being, all because of the reality of my situation. All because of the cerulean eyes now piercing into emerald ones.

I can't believe my eyes. I can't believe the reality of my situation. I can't believe that Louis is standing in front of me in all his glory, and I'm one hundred per cent sure, based on his reaction, that he feels the exact same way.

It has to be some sick joke. A prank, something, because he can't be my stepbrother. He just can't be.

I can't wake up every morning with my body sore and bruised, from my many beatings and force a smile around him. I can't look him in the eye and pretend to be okay when in reality I am far from it. I can't forget the way he sucked love bites to my most private areas, nor could I ever forget the way he looked upon that stage, swinging his hips, as though his life depended on it.

I just can't, no matter how hard I try.

I can say I will adapt. That I would try to be happy with this choice for the sake of my mother. That I would be alright with my entire life being uprooted, but I could never be okay with calling Louis Tomlinson my stepbrother, ever. I may be masochistic by nature, but never would I be okay with calling the one boy I can't rid from my memory that. I just can't. 

Asking me to do that, is like asking a fentanyl addict to be okay without the opioid. To endure the pain of withdrawal just to see if they are strong enough to survive it. It's like asking an amputee to give up their morphine supply, just to see if their body is strong enough to fight it. Just to see if they can resist the urge and temptation to use their desired drug.

Sure, there will be those strong enough, and I commend them for that, but I know I would never be one of them. I know that I will not be able to resist these temptations. I know I won't, so I pray to God that for some reason this isn't actually the reality of my situation. That Louis is in fact not my stepbrother, but just someone the Tomlinsons know. 

I pray that there is a mistake, but deep down, I know there is none, as I can't deny the uncanny resemblance between the girls and him. Yet, I still pray it's not true, it can't be, because I know that I won't be able to cope with the situation. 

I am weak and vulnerable and easily swayed. When given my fentanyl, morphine, heroin and personal brand of ecstasy, at the first opportunity presented I would get wasted. There are no two ways about that, especially when the acquisition of such substances is child's play. Especially, when they will now be right next door to me, living and breathing the same air that I do.

I have no idea how I will go living possibly years, with Louis, under the same roof, when I can barely look at him without drowning in his eyes. Without there being a suffocating silence and seemingly paralysed limbs on both our sides. But I had to try.

I had to do something, say something, to get rid of this awkward tension in the air. Louis and I would deal with this privately, but not here. Not now. Not with his sisters standing right next to us, as though waiting for some form of explanation. Especially not here, with our parents now making their way towards us, apparently having heard our previous encounter, evidently saving me from having to say anything.

"Well, I take it that Louis and Harry have met each other before then, cus from what Anne and I heard, it seems like you did? Must say though that saved us some time cus of course, Harry and the girls know each other quite well," Mark said, while my mother clutched onto his arm with the happiest look I've seen on her face in years.