Have I forgotten how to love; remind me once again

Chapter Nineteen

If Louis thought the hangover yesterday was bad, he doesn't even come close to finding words that describe this one. He must have blacked out eventually - judging from the wet puddle of tequila on the pillow next to his head in the middle of emptying the bottle.

With a groan, Louis rolls over, despite the unhealthy amount of alcohol he consumed, still barely having slept more than four hours. His head is pounding so furiously that it takes him a moment to notice the bottle pressing uncomfortably into his shoulder from where it must have slipped from his hand last night. It's empty now, though Louis can't quite determine how much he spilled on the couch and how much he actually consumed.

The sharp smell of tequila as he turns to his side draws Louis' attention from the thrumming in his head to his revolting stomach, and in a panic, he stumbles to his feet, a rush of alcohol momentarily blurring his vision.

Desperate to reach the bathroom before his stomach revolts further, Louis clamps a hand over his mouth and harshly clenches his jaw, willing himself to stay on his feet and not tumble over despite still feeling rather tipsy. It really isn't fair that he gets to be drunk and hungover at the same time. What a scam.

He barely makes it in time before his stomach clenches again and Louis finds himself pathetically crumbled up in front of the toilet while the remnants of tequila and the little food he ate yesterday disappears from his body.

At last, there's nothing else to throw up, and he ends up just coughing on the floor, feeling more than a bit sorry for himself. Louis can't remember the last time he's been doing this alone - Harry usually never gets hungover and he would always be there to pet Louis' back, bring him water or hold his hair back until Louis was feeling better. Even yesterday, when Harry wasn't here, the boys were.

With that, it once again hits Louis that he's alone for good now, and if he's being honest, he cannot spot a positive outcome from this vantage point. Harry is gone. So are his friends, and he can't blame any of them for leaving.

Look at him; he's a fucking train wreck - drinking his sorrows away when that's exactly what his friends left him for. And well, because he pushed them away. Louis hates to admit it, but he feels like drinking again now that his stomach is empty and calming a bit. A headache is still knocking against his temples, but that's nothing a few painkillers can't help.

With that, Louis stumbles to his feet, wiping away tears he didn't even realize he shed. Louis fumbles for the painkillers in their bathroom cabinet, but he comes up empty, frustration raking at his nerves when the right package refuses to show up. Exasperatedly, he realizes there isn't any left and he just breaks.

Right then and there, Louis proves that tears surely must be infinite, because there truly shouldn't be any left by now. He nearly strikes his head against the counter as his knees give out underneath him and Louis finds himself sobbing on the floor for the umpteenth time in way too few days.

He feels useless and alone. Two things that Louis never used to identify with for more than a second, because his love has always been there to take away those emotions within a breath of uttering them. His friends too.

Louis needs them back. Desperately. But he has no clue as to how he's even supposed to begin doing so. Yet he still forces himself to stand, furiously wiping at his eyes as to remove every trace of how pathetic he his.

Painkillers, Louis decides, that's where he's going to start because right now not a single coherent thought can form in his obnoxiously pounding head. It's probably a good idea to check the kitchen first too, as there might be some left, but when Louis finally finds his way down the stairs, he is reminded of the glass crushed against the floor and the wine that hasn't quite dried yet but still has managed to form a sticky puddle.